Collateral Damage
by PoisonComeUndone
Summary: Dean agrees to let Michael take him as his vessel. Sam wants redemption, Cas is lonely, and somewhere between all their personal problems they just might be able to come together and save the world. Maybe.
1. Chapter 1

Because I can apparently never leave anything alone.

Ever.

*headdesk*

This is a follow up to the ficlet I wrote for spn_30snapshots. Cas responds to Michael taking Dean as his vessel… The first ficlet can be found here: http : / / community . livejournal . com / deancastiel / 1010962 . html # cutid1 with the spaces removed, obviously. It can also be found here at ff, under the story title Brothers- 30 snapshots or something like that. It's the second chapter.

(I swear, new chapter of To Reign In Hell is coming soon…and I was so going to write that this morning…but this little plot bunny dove for the throat. *rubs at bite wound*)

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

The front door slammed, open, ricocheting off the wall with a force that knocked a few books off the bookshelf to the right. "Where is he?" His voice rang with cold fury, and he could tell that Bobby was almost frightened. Later, he would apologize.

"In the backyard."

He stormed through the house, came out the back to find Sam parked just beside the door, watching the yard with an expression that would've been more at home on a beaten dog. He took a deep breath, let his hand ghost across Sam's hair as he passed. "Sam."

He brightened at that, a little, looked up. "Cas, it's so good to see you man, I was gonna summon you as soon as-"

"Leave us, Sam. Now. Please."

For once, Sam listened without asking a single question. He was grateful for that. He wasn't sure he would've had the patience to try and explain.

The man that had been sitting on the Impala stood, brushed dirt off his hands. "Castiel."

The voice was warm and rough and familiar with just a tiny edge that shouldn't have been there, but there was a deeper level of _wrong_ to the way the word sounded on his tongue. It sliced through his chest, had him with the lapels of that old leather jacket in his hand before he could even register the movement, shoved the too-familiar body up against the car and trapped it there with his own.

"I asked you, I _begged_ you not to do this! The years we've served together, the years I have called you my friend, and you betray me now with _this_, Michael?" His tightened around the leather until his knuckles turned white, and he shook him none too gently. "I trusted you! You swore to me you wouldn't-"

"Castiel, please, be reasonable!" Michael smiled, a little sheepish, and Castiel fought the very human urge to be violently sick. The expression was Dean, the warm skin he could feel brush against the back of his hand was Dean, but the light in those soft green eyes…that was unrecognizable. "I did not break my word to you, my friend. He is unharmed. I haven't even restricted him entirely, just enough."

"Unharmed?" He let out a harsh breath, shoved him harder against the car. "Tell me that he's alright. That he's not hurting. That he's not struggling."

Michael hesitated, and that would have really been all the answer he needed to know. He had to have seen the violence in Castiel's eyes, though, and he brought a hand up in a placating gesture, buying himself a second's thought. "He is…uncomfortable, for the time being. I'm not putting undue stress on him, I promise. This would be so much easier, entirely pain free if he wouldn't fight me and I _told_ him as much. But he's stubborn, this one." He smiled, eyes bright. "I can see how he drew you in. He does have a magnificent soul, brother. I think he's my favorite I've had so far, honestly."

Castiel barely registered the growl that left his own chest. It was feral, powerful, but not enough to scare an angel that vastly outranked him. A clap of thunder sounded overhead, and Michael glanced up, sighed. "Oh, Castiel, _please_. Enough, I understand, you hate me for this. There's no sense in taxing your powers like this; I won't fight you. We both know how that would end, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Let him go." His voice was low, rough with rage and something dangerously close to the pain he could feel clawing at his ribs. "Let him go, Michael, _now_."

"You know I won't. I have a job to do first, and the sooner you work _with_ me to get it done-"

"_Never_." He was seething, the words forced out through clenched teeth. "I will never help you again. I came to you in faith, I asked you-"

"Not to hurt him, yes, I _know_! And I swear, he made the choice on his own!"

Castiel cocked his head, his grip easing a fraction in his curiosity.

"He did, truly. I…I told him that I if he would not agree, I had another option for a vessel and I would-"

Castiel's fist connected hard with his jaw, and Michael sighed, rolled his neck. "Did I not tell you? I haven't restrained him fully, to appease _you_ ironically enough. He can feel _everything_ . You _know_ it won't hurt me, but him..."

"Dean…" It slipped from his lips in a horrified gasp and he let go, almost staggered back. He had _hurt_ him. He'd been too worked up, too furious to think straight, to realize just what he was doing. "Dean, I…" it was hard, talking to him like this. Knowing he could hear, but not really answer…it twisted his heart, the pain overpowering the rage for the moment. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Oh don't worry, he's busy cursing me for upsetting you. He didn't mind." His lips curved into an easy smile, his hands coming back to rest comfortably against the black sheen of the Impala. "He wanted me to tell you, earlier, that he thought I was a dick."

He swallowed convulsively, fought the sound of fury that ached to rip from his lungs. He wanted to get out of here, to leave his vessel and scream with his _true_ voice until every window in this hemisphere shattered.

He heard Michael sigh, heard the sound of his boots in the dust as he came close enough to lay a hand against his shoulder. "Castiel, I'm sorry, alright? I swear to you, if I could have taken another vessel, if there was another living Winchester outside of these two boys, I wouldn't have done this." His voice softened, a gentle whisper. "I _know_ how you love him, and believe me, it pains me to hurt you. But I had no choice. Lucifer is of utmost importance, here. We cannot allow him to rise simply because Dean Winchester is stubborn."

He glared, shot his arm out to tug the jacket from Michael's shoulders, yanking the grey sleeve up to press his hand to the brand that fit it like a glove. The body beneath his hand went rigid, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

Castiel twitched, fought the urge to pull his hand back. "Can you feel that?"

Michael shook his head, his eyes awed and a little puzzled. "I…no. But he can. I can…sense it. A very strong connection. You sacrificed much to raise him from the Pit; I commend you."

He squeezed his hand against the print once more, stroked his thumb over the mark as he pulled his hand away and prayed that only Dean could feel the tenderness in the caress. "I wasn't looking for your congratulations." His eyes locked with the archangel's, and he stared him down. "I was making a point. This body was not yours to take. I rebuilt it with my own hands, gave him life from _my_ own Grace. He belongs to me, as surely as we belong to God." Blasphemy, perhaps, but he didn't care. Putting life in someone's hands made you reckless to protect it, and his Father had to have known as much when He sent him to retrieve Dean from Hell. The soul he'd held in his arms had been hard won, _his_ by right of battle and creation and love. He had ripped a piece of his Grace from his own chest, cradled Dean's broken soul in his arms and began to rebuild. In his eyes, they could never belong to anyone but each other, after that.

"Castiel, no one disputes your claim! Certainly, you have every right to be at his side! Did our Father not make His intentions known, after all, when he breathed life into you after your encounter with Sandalphon? Castiel, my friend…" He stroked his cheek, held his hand steady even when Castiel flinched. "He gave you to Dean. To each other. A beautiful gift indeed, and you are entitled to be as ragingly possessive of it as you like." His eyes steeled, undisputable. "As soon as I have dealt with our brother."

He was silent a long time, listened to the horribly familiar sound of breaths he had once counted as he'd waited beside Dean's hospital bed. He finally looked away, felt Micheal's hand fall slowly from his cheek. "You are right. I hate you for this. And I will never forgive you."

"You see? We all must sacrifice something. I would give anything not to lose you as a friend."

He shook his head, ignored the small twinge that came at the sincerity in his words. "There are lines, Michael. There are lines not to be crossed." He clenched his fist, felt his nails bite into his palm. "I love him."

"And he loves you, though he's been afraid to say it. Castiel, please, I will take care of him. You must trust me. Here." He took his hand, pulled it to rest gently over his-_Dean's_-heart. He could feel it, feel the beat and the _humanity_ of it and he closed his eyes, let all the other sound fade until he zeroed in on the sound. "He's still alive. And I won't take him from you."

Castiel shuddered, kept his eyes closed. "Right now. What is he thinking?"

"That he hates me, of course. I believe his exact words were 'Stop screwing with him you pompous son of a bitch', if it makes you feel any better." He laughed, once. "But I doubt it." He stepped closer, held Castiel's hand tight against his chest. "He wishes he could comfort you, but he knows he can't. He's frustrated. And did I mention that he hates me?"

He let out a slow breath, his hand fisting unconsciously around the familiar cloth against his hand. With his eyes closed, it _felt_ like Dean. "Tell him not to worry. I will be fine."

"He thinks that's bullshit."

His jaw clenched, and he stepped closer. "Yes."

"You're worrying unnecessarily. He is safe, with me. I can heal him."

"And if Lucifer defeats you? If he casts you from this vessel, if he binds you so you cannot heal? There are a million possibilities, Michael. He is not a normal adversary, and he _can_ hurt Dean. I know he can."

"I won't let him."

"I don't trust you."

He laughed, soft and defeated. "Yes. Yes, I know." He felt a warm, calloused hand on his cheek, an arm sliding around his waist to pull him against this body he knew so well, coaxing his head to rest in the crook of his neck. "It's alright. It's alright."

For a moment, he sank into the embrace. He couldn't help it. It was too real, too _Dean_. He smelled like leather and gasoline and blood and he wanted to grip him tight and breathe it in until he forgot that it wasn't really Dean he was holding.

Michael ran gentle fingers through his hair, reminded him far too soon. "It's alright, you know. If you need…I will do whatever helps you. And he can feel everything."

He swallowed, violently bit back the urge to give in to the temptation. It took all he had to let go but he did, pushing away and shaking his head. "No. _No_. I want him. Dean, or nothing."

Michael shrugged, a tinge of sadness in his eyes that Castiel wouldn't let himself dwell on. "As you will. He is not opposed, in case you change your mind." He stooped, picked up the leather jacket from where it lay in the dust and settled it around himself again. "Castiel. Come with me. Help me fight Lucifer."

He stood stock still, refused to think.

Eventually he heard Michael sigh. "Very well. I will miss you, my brother. I'll be back from time to time, I'm sure." He heard his wings unfurl, and by the time Castiel looked up, he was gone.

His breath caught, dizzying, and he sank to his knees by the Impala, let his forehead rest against the warm metal. His chest ached, and he wasn't even sure how long he'd be able to feel it. How long it was healthy, how long it took before being heartsick should technically kill you. If humans lived through this all the time, they deserved far more respect than they got from most of his kind.

He felt Sam's arm around his shoulders, warm and solid and he was grateful when Sam didn't try to pull him to his feet but sank to the ground beside him instead.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Poor Cas…I think I must like torturing him. X.X


	2. Chapter 2

So, what I planned to start about 2 weeks ago, the second chapter for Collateral Damage! :D

Ok, so one thing to know…

_This_ is Dean inside Dean's head, _**this**_ is Michael.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Bobby had had Sam dig around in the cabinet until he came up with a bottle of Makers and two bar glasses. He slid them onto the kitchen table, let Bobby pour and downed his first in one gulp. Bobby drank his only a little slower, let his glass thud back onto the table.

"He's gone?"

Sam nodded, wordlessly. He wasn't sure there was even anything else to say. Dean was gone, trapped in his own head by an archangel he _let_ control him just so Sam wouldn't take the offer. Once again, he'd failed to save his brother. Really, he should've stopped keeping count of how many times he'd let Dean down; the number only served to make him sick.

"Do we know _where_ they're going?"

At least Bobby had said _they're_, not he, not like they were one person. Sam shrugged, poured them both another drink and swallowed his second just as quick. "I don't know."

"I mean, do we even know where Lucifer-"

"No, Bobby, I _don't __**know**_, ok?" He didn't mean to lose patience with him, really he didn't. Whatever nerves he had left were cracking under the strain, coming apart before his eyes. Even though Dean had said he wasn't sure they could they be the same again, they'd been working out of Bobby's for a couple weeks now and it was plain that whatever Dean had said, Dean still wanted him to try. And he had been. He'd been trying so goddamn hard and he was pretty sure he was getting somewhere, but now? Now that didn't matter.

"He won't go to Lucifer. Not first. He probably can't find him yet anyway." Castiel's voice came from where he sat slumped against the wall in the corner, low and defeated and sounding about as broken as Sam felt. His heart jerked toward the sound, drawn to the familiarity. Cas had lost Dean too, and he hadn't realized until he saw him with Michael just how _much_ Cas had lost, how much Dean hadn't told him yet. He'd like to think that Dean would've, eventually, but that wasn't exactly important right now.

Castiel pushed himself up, shuffled over to the table. He sank into a chair, cocked his head almost curiously at the whisky in between them. Sam shoved it closer, asked without really expecting an answer. "Want some?"

"Yes, I think." He tried not to show how much it shocked him, pushed his chair back and fished another glass out of the cabinet. He poured for Cas, gave him just a little less than he put in his and Bobby's third glasses. Cas sipped at it, shuddered and forced it all down. His eyes hadn't changed since Michael had left. They were still haunted, still a picture of shattered faith. "This is war, the generals won't fight each other at the beginning. He'll be structuring, gathering, fighting Lucifer's movements everywhere he can. He might _say_ he can get this over with quickly, but he can't. And he won't."

Bobby spoke up then, scooting closer to the table. "What, actually helping fight the Apocalypse? An _angel_?"

"Michael may be our Father's weapon, but he's more than that. He's…he's the protector. Of everyone. When he was formed God gave him fierce instincts, an unbreakable devotion to our Father and the desire to care for this planet with the strength of blood…" His voice dropped, hushed, and it was clear he was piecing a few things together for the first time himself. "It's why your family, your blood line…you have a propensity for protecting your own. It's why even if your father had been living, out of all of you Dean would be his preferred vessel…the older brother, the protector…" His voice broke and he looked away, his jaw clenching.

Well, it _did_ make sense now. Michael, the protector…yeah, that was definitely Dean. Beyond all doubt. Sam cleared his throat, fought the pricking he could feel behind his eyes. He poured Cas another drink, held off on his own. "So he's…he really is supposed to be the good guy."

"He is a liar." Castiel's eyes sparked vivid blue, fury bleeding sharp into his voice. "He is not as good as I believed. I _trusted_ him, and I won't ever make that mistake again." He took the second drink much better than the first, only coughing once after he finished and not wincing at all. He shoved away from the table, stalked toward the door.

"Hey, Cas, wait-"

"I'm not leaving." He hesitated, let his hand rest against the doorframe. "We need fresh wards, on the gate. I don't want him coming back here."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

-_and why the hell couldn't you just let it go, huh? You had to keep pushing him, keep making him __think__ about it, I swear to God, bastard, if you-_

Michael sighed heavily, rubbed a thumb against his temple. _**Can we be done with this? I understand, Dean, you think I tortured Castiel unnecessarily. I am sorry you disapprove, but I thought actually **__**speaking**__** to him would be a better way of transmitting my good will then simply taking you and leaving. You hate my decisions as much as you hate me, I understand, now can you **__**be quiet**__**?**_

_Oh, what, am I getting on your nerves? That's funny, considering __I'm __the one with every right to be freaking annoyed here and __you're__ the one getting pissed? _

_**Just…please. We have work to do.**_

_What, you gonna shut me up, Mike? Pen me up in here like a demon would, huh?_

_**I told you before, I gave my brother my word. I told Castiel I wouldn't hurt you, and I won't if you'd just **__**stop pushing**__**!**_

Michael growled in frustration, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He'd told Castiel he liked Dean and that was still true, but at the time he hadn't yet had full opportunity to realize how infuriatingly frustrating the man could be. The incessant yelling in his head hadn't stopped since he left the salvage yard two hours before. He'd been sure Dean would tire, but if anything he'd just gotten louder and more insistent. Utterly frustrating.

_Well if you're not gonna shut me up, then tough. Cause it's __my__ body you're in, pal, and I'm not gonna let up just cause I'm bugging you._

_**Wonderful. Thank you for informing me.**_

He stood up, shook his wings free from his shoulders and slipped through the dimensional space that was visible only to his kind. Dean mercifully went quiet for that, and within seconds they were outside a convenience store in Dothan, Alabama. The door jingled loudly as he came through, the cashier looking up from her book to smile at him. He nodded back, stepped up to the counter.

He scanned the shelves behind her, pleased to see what he was looking for hadn't vanished since the 60's. "I need a pack of Camel, please. And this." He snatched a yellow lighter from the display next to the register, tossing it down against the counter.

_Oh, are you kiddin' me? You smoke? You, a freakin' __angel__?_

He slipped a hand into his pocket, materialized some money into his palm with hardly a thought and paid her quickly, taking the box and lighter in one hand as he turned to head out the door. He ripped the package open, brought one to his lips and lit up quick, sighing after the first taste.

_**Missed that. And yes, it's…an indulgence, while I'm here.**_

_Angels have their own vices, who'd've thought…_

_**Technically, it's no more a vice than occasional alcohol consumption or driving without a seatbelt, but I see what you mean. Still, it's even less harmful for me as I can't be affected by the detriments, only the positives.**_

_What, and I can't? These are __my__ lungs, y'know._

_**Relax. My presence alone heals your body continuously.**_ He took another drag, his lips curling into a smile. _**You should be glad for that, really. This past year has been hard on your liver.**_

Dean actually fell silent then, and he took the opportunity to relax back against the wall, enjoying the rest of his cigarette and mulling plans over in his head. Finding Lucifer was paramount of course, but it wasn't as if he would be easy to find. No, if he knew his brother, he'd still be laying low, still letting the lower level pieces move into place.

_So if we don't know where he is, what are we doing here?_

Michael startled just a little, honestly surprised that he'd been broadcasting his thoughts so clearly. There was a divide, and while he could hear everything Dean thought, Dean couldn't read his mind in exactly the same way. Not unless it was directed at him, at least. Or, apparently, unless he was thinking 'loudly' enough.

_**Impressive. You are a strong soul indeed, Dean Winchester.**_

_Fantastic. So, what are we doing here? Sorry to __rush__ you, but I kinda wanna get this show on the road. Sam and Cas and Bobby, they're probably goin' crazy right about now. We get this over with, it's done and I can go home. And scrub my brain._

He laughed, low and rough. _**You **__**are**__** funny, I'll certainly give you that.**_ He turned, saw the ashtray on the other side of the door and crushed the end down into the sand, brushing his fingers off on his jeans when he finished. _**Right. Well, we're here to meet my brother.**_

_Which one? _

He grinned, rolled his shoulders and slid his hands into his pockets, starting off walking down the road. _**My**__** little brother, Dean. Do you honestly think we don't have family? Our garrisons, they're very close, typically. Just because God comes unquestionably first doesn't mean there aren't other levels of affection. Titus…he was formed by our Father some time after me. He's a guardian angel, as is every other angel in my garrison.**_

_Guardian angel? Like the literally perching on your shoulder kind of angel?_

He laughed again, warm. _**Yes. Exactly. Most of them spend their existence moving from one human to another, guiding, watching…some of the stronger ones have specific purposes, certain countries and the like. For Titus, this is his state. It's why the bloodline that can contain him runs here.**_

_Let me get this straight…he's the angel of Alabama?_

_**Yes.**_

_You have any idea how many jokes I could make about that?_

_**Don't. Remember, Castiel is the angel of Thursday, or did you know? **_There was just an edge of warning in his tone, enough to convey that this was someone he wasn't interested in hearing Dean make fun of. _**Titus has never taken a vessel in his entire existence, but he's coming down to help me deal with this battle. **_

_So he's gonna be taggin' along with you to go fight Lucifer? Oh yeah, that sounds safe._

_**Concerned, Dean?**_

_Just wondering what the hell you're thinking, that's all._

_**No. I'm not that stupid, or that reckless with his life.**_

_Just other people's._

He sighed, shook his head. _**I'm not your enemy, Dean. I'm not. And believe it or not I have no desire to see this planet go up in flames. **_

_See, I don't buy that. Cause Zach, he said that if this happens, if the Apocalypse starts, millions die. And you kill a good number of them yourself on your psycho Lucifer quest._

_**You must believe me, Dean. I will do everything in my power to keep it from coming to that. There will be lives lost, certainly, but it is my greatest desire to keep them to a minimum. It's the orders I have from my Father; it's why I'm here. To defeat Lucifer, and to save God's most beautiful creation. You, and your home. I can do it. I know I can. **_Dean didn't answer, and he picked up where the conversation had gotten sidetracked from. _**But no, he isn't coming with us. I'm just meeting him, making sure he takes his vessel successfully. He'll be leaving; he has his own orders. I've asked him to try and keep a handle on the spread of the lower level demonic possessions. Takes a little bit of the work off our hands.**_

_Well, that'll be useful to the hunters at least. If he actually does it._

_**He'll do it. He's not Zachariah, Dean, and he's certainly not Uriel. You must understand, you've met very few of us. Imagine what would happen if we judged humanity solely off the actions of your leaders. Are all of you like Hitler, perhaps?**_

_Point taken. But I still think you're a dick._

Michael laughed louder, his lips turn up into a soft smile. _**You'd hardly be you if you didn't.**_

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was after midnight before Castiel came back to the house. Bobby'd gone to bed but Sam waited up for him, flicking through the books he could find that included anything even alluding to the vessels of angels. When Cas showed up it was sudden, appearing to hover just behind Sam's shoulder.

"You won't find much in there. Humans have little correct about the process."

He sighed, frustrated, and slammed the book shut. He stretched, felt his back creak and protest. "What can _you_ tell me about the process? What's it like? Like being possessed?'

"Not exactly, no. There's usually less fear and more awareness, considering the vessel has already consented to use. However, it's harder to house an archangel, it takes _more_, and the vessel is usually shoved to the back of their own minds, pinned and almost certainly in pain. Besides, angels usually tend to show very little care for the human needs of their host, especially if they're unaccustomed to them." Castiel looked away, rubbed at the back of his neck. "I've been guilty of that myself."

"So Dean, he ah…" Sam looked down, rubbed at a hole in his jeans as he forced the words out. "He's in pain?"

"It's…complicated." He pulled up a chair, leaned his elbows against his knees as he settled in to talk to Sam. "He wouldn't be. Michael isn't confining him, not strictly. He still has a measure of freedom in his own head, and he can still experience everything just…without the control. Like being a passenger in a car, really, except far more personally invasive. He is…struggling. Michael told me. And that _will_ hurt him, until he realizes pushing against the hold does him no good." He gestured helpless, shook his head. "He might have realized that already, for all we know."

"Yeah, cause Dean's always so ready to let someone else drive." He rubbed his hands across his face, felt the weariness sinking in through his bones. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since God only knew when. Ever since raising Lucifer, it was nightmares every night. Either that, or lying awake in the dark and worrying about how to fix his relationship with his brother, how to pay his debts, how to earn Dean's trust.

Just then the memories of that morning rushed back in, hitting hard. In the commotion of everything else, he almost forgot to mention just what else he'd noticed when he was watching Cas and Michael out the window. He cleared his throat, looked up and got Cas to meet his eyes. "Is there something going on between you and my brother?"

His eyes widen, briefly, and he looked away, licked his lips and almost started twice before he actually answered. "He would have preferred to tell you himself. He was _going_ to tell you, Sam, he just…"

"He just doesn't trust me, yeah, I know." It came out even more bitter than he'd meant it to, and Castiel's head snapped back up, blue eyes burning bright.

"He's trying, Sam. Whatever has happened, you are still his little brother, and you mean more to him than he could ever possibly tell you or even fully understand himself. He's having a hard time, right now, but believe me, Sam, he wants everything to be like it was. He sees that you're trying, and he thinks it's working."

_It's working_. He blinked back the sting in his eyes, coughed again. "He told you that?"

"Yes."

He could literally feel his muscles go weak with the relief and he leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his face again, made sure he kept his composure. Much as he was pretty much family at this point, if he was going to get all emotional over this, it'd be with Dean. This was between the two of them. "So…you _are_. The two of you."

The chair squeak against the wood as he scooted it back, relaxed more into it. "For some time now. He really _was_ going to tell you, Sam, he just hadn't decided how. I think he was worried you would be…upset."

Sam looked up, ready to gauge the angel's response. The guy had never showed emotion before but he'd started to, bit by bit, and if there was anything there he wanted to catch it. "I'd ask if you love him, but considering this morning…"

"I would hope I'd made that rather clear, yes."

"Yeah." Sam looked down, rubbed his hands together as he thought. The last time he'd faced something like this had been with Cassie, back in Missouri. He'd seen the way Dean was with her, and he'd been ready to accept it, even to stay in that little town if they needed to. Hell, he'd been ready to go into full on protective brother mode and talk to her about how no one messed with his brother, but in the end, he hadn't needed to. She'd made it pretty clear she didn't want to try, and though it had clearly hurt, Dean had taken it alright. He'd wanted to talk to her even more after that, cause that definitely _did_ fall under the heading of messing with his brother, but he'd let it go because Dean had _wanted_ to let her go. End of story. With their line of work, he hadn't been sure anything like this would ever come up again, but here it was. And now, after everything they'd been through the past year…well, he didn't exactly feel worthy to lecture anyone.

"There's a lot of things I would say, but you're the one that pulled him out of hell when I couldn't." He laughed, low and just a little harsh. "I mean, I practically left him for Ruby and you left Heaven for _him _so ah…I know that I don't have much room to talk, I know that. But at the same time, he's still my brother." He looked up, let Cas see the honesty in his eyes. "And I won't let you hurt him. Not anyone, not ever again."

Cas leaned in closer, his lips curving into a warm smile. "Which is exactly why I like you, Sam." He reached out, touched his arm with a warm hand. "I would do anything to keep from hurting him. I hope I never do."

He nodded, brought his own hand over to cover Castiel's for a brief moment before he pushed out of the chair, went to the fireplace to lean against the mantle. "What do we do now, Cas? How do we get him back?"

"We can't. It isn't possible."

He slammed his fist into the wall, swept a vase off the end of mantle, heard the crash as it shattered against the floor. "There has to be a way!"

Cas leapt to his feet, crossed over to step almost all the way in front of Sam. "There _is_ no way! There is nothing, nothing you can do, nothing I or anyone else can do until Michael is finished. We are helpless against this. And I am sorry I couldn't stop it."

"_You_ couldn't stop it? Hell, I'm the one Michael came to first! And I told him, I told him to take me and he said he might but that-"

"He didn't _want_ to take you, Sam! It was only a ploy, a bargaining chip to ensure Dean's cooperation! It was never meant to be you!"

That was another punch to the gut, one more thing to feel guilty for. Michael had set a trap for Dean, and he'd walked right into it to be the stupid, willing bait. One more thing to add to his list of 'ways I've screwed everything up royally'. "So he lied. Michael lied to me about me being able to be his vessel."

"No. That much _is_ true, but you weren't the preferred one. In fact, I don't think he would've taken you even if Dean hadn't agreed."

His hand tightened on the mantle, knuckles white. "Because of the demon blood."

"Because of a prophesy." Sam raised his head at that, curious, and Cas shook his head. "No, I don't know much. I only know that it involves Michael and…."

"And?"

Castiel's eyes dropped shut, his shoulders sagging just a little with the weight. "And a potential Antichrist."

"_Potential Antichrist_? So that's…that's me? I'm…"

Cas held a hand up, pacifying. "It's possible, Sam, I _don't_ know. I know only that there have been rumors, and I have heard that we know for certain it was Lucifer that asked Azazel to give his blood to special children." Sam opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat as Cas cut him off. "There are other generations, Sam, other possibilities, it doesn't _have_ to be you."

"Except that I'm the one that started all of this. Oh my _God…_" He turned away, jumped when he felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder, turning him.

"It won't come to that, Sam. It won't."

"And if it does?"

"Would you ever consent? Would you allow Lucifer to take you?"

He shook his head, spread his hands out helplessly. "I want to say no, I wouldn't, but if he threatened Dean? If he pulled God knows what else out to throw at me? I don't really know, do I?"

Cas nodded, his lips pressing then. "As I said…we won't let it come to that."

"How the hell are we gonna stop it, Cas? I mean, I don't know about you but I'm feelin' a little overwhelmed here. Me and you and Bobby, we're good, but we can't take on the Apocalypse alone, and I can't…" His chest tightened, aching. "I can't stand the thought of Dean bein' out there somewhere by himself. Even if Michael is in control. If we're going to fight this war, we need to be doing it _together_. All of us."

Cas drew his hand back slow, his jaw clenching. "It won't be like you think, Sam. It won't be _him_, it'll be Michael, and we'll want to treat him like Dean, but he isn't. And-"

"And Dean is in there. Dean can _hear_ us, isn't that what you just told me earlier? Look if nothing else, we should be there for him so he's not alone."

It seemed like forever before Cas nodded and Sam waited expectantly, nervously.

"You're right. He shouldn't be alone. Call him. I'll go take down the wards."

He was gone before Sam could get a good look, but the flash of pain he'd seen in his eyes had been all too easy to read.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

_I gotta tell you, I'm not thinkin' too much of your brother's intelligence right now._

Michael gritted his teeth, tapped the hilt of Dean's knife impatiently against the hard earth. _**He's nervous. Give him time.**_

_Time? Oh c'mon, the guy gave his consent two hours ago! He practically begged! What the hell was it said, "Oh Lord make me an instrument" or some shit like that?_

_**It was beautiful, Dean, and yes, he is willing. Titus is preparing to join with him.**_

_Does everything you say have to sound so dirty?_

_**Only to you.**_ Just then Dean's phone rang loudly, jarring in the silence. Michael jumped, reached slowly inside the leather jacket to feel around for a pocket.

_The hell are you doin'? Answer the phone, jackass!_

_**Patience. You have no patience.**_ He slid the phone out, felt Dean scrabbled hard against his hold when he looked at the screen to see the word 'Sam' displayed across it. He flipped the phone open, cocked his shoulder to press it against his ear. "Yes?"

He heard Sam suck in a ragged breath, for a minute lost for words.

_God, Sammy, it's ok, it's ok buddy. _Michael felt the surge in energy as Dean fought him again and he sighed heavily, pushed back enough that Dean went silent.

_**I don't want to hurt you, Dean, but you can't get around me. It's not like demonic possession. Trying gets you nowhere, I'm sorry. **__**Relax**__**, please, hm? He'll be alright.**_

Finally, Sam spoke. "Michael?"

The word was still thick, pained, and Michael winced at the near deafening cry of rage Dean had echoing around the inside of his head. "Yes. Are you alright, Sam?"

"Ah, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Dean, is he alright?"

_Don't fucking worry about that, Sam, it's nothing._

"He says it's nothing. He's rather angry at the moment, to be honest." He let his head fall back against the foundation of the house, kept background tabs on Titus' movements overhead. "Has Castiel reconsidered my offer?"

"What offer was that?"

"To help fight this war. To finish Lucifer."

He could hear the sound of Sam shuffling the phone, his voice coming through clearer. "Yeah. Yeah we want to help you. Both of us. Bobby too."

_Jesus, Sammy, what the hell are you-_

"I'd hoped he'd change his mind. I have something to take care of where I am, but I can meet you in the morning. The salvage yard?"

"Yeah. We'll be here." He went quiet, and Michael was actually reaching up to pull the phone away from his ear when he heard his next words. "You were never going to use me, were you? I was just the tool you used to get to Dean."

"You are _no one's_ tool, Samuel, and you'd do well to remember that."

_Samuel? C'mon he hates that. And don't start this crap, alright? Kid feels bad enough already._

"But you did use me to get to Dean. Didn't you?"

Michael sighed, wished he was there in person to explain to the boy. "Sometimes…sometimes the end justifies the means, does it not? You didn't fail him, Sam, and I didn't lie. I _could've_ used you, I still could, but I won't."

"Why?"

"I'll see you in the morning." He hung up, shoved the phone into his pocket and prepared to deal with Dean's yelling.

_Care to tell me what the hell that was about?_

_**At the moment, no.**_ Windows rattled overhead and he was glad for the distraction. He smiled, wide, whispered into the night air. "Go ahead then, brother." He stood up in time to hear the glass crack, folded his wings in tight and slid from where he'd sat to into the man's living room, coming in just in time to see the last flashing of blinding white light spilling into his vessel's features.

_Shouldn't I be going blind about now?_

_**You would be, if you didn't have me in you. Another perk.**_

_There are no perks._

Titus stood before him now, fully clothed in his vessel and staring curiously at his own arm, turning to watch the dim light play over his skin. The man's name was Delane Aaron, and his family bloodline could be traced back for generations in this state, on his mother's side. He was certainly an attractive vessel, light brown skin and deep, dark eyes still seemed to hold innocence at 19. It suited his brother, and Michael couldn't help but be pleased with the match. "He fits you well, Titus. He is a good man."

_Yeah, a good man that's just been forced into Invasion of the Body Snatchers._

Titus blinked, turned his arm over again. "It…_feels_…I…"

Michael stepped forward, laughing as he clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it."

Titus nodded, slow. "He isn't here."

_Son of a __bitch__! Did he-_

"He's not _dead_, he's just suppressed by the power of your grace. You can control it, eventually, but that takes finesse, skill…many years."

"My wings feel strange…_bound_."

"You'll always feel a little cramped, while you're here. One of the limits that come with taking human form, I'm afraid. There are benefits to have your wings like this, though. It…" He chuckled, patted him on the shoulder once more before pulling his hand away. "You'll see. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Michael. I'm ready." He stood just a little taller and Michael could just make out the curve of his wings, invisible to human eyes for the moment and arching proudly from his shoulders.

"You are a good soldier, my brother." He met Titus' eyes, trapped his attention with the intensity of his gaze. "Boulder, Colorado. There's a demon there driving the animal's mad, inciting them to violence. Take care of him."

Titus didn't even waste time with so much as a 'yes' before he was gone, blinking out of existence.

_So that's your little brother, huh? Yeah, I could tell. Real good relationship you two have._

_**He's uncomfortable; adjusting. And he is an efficient warrior. He'll be wanting to talk when we see him again, I assure you. For now…**_ He flexed his own wings until they brushed the walls, rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles. _**We can show up a little early.**_

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

I really hope everyone's enjoying this one! This thing started out as a oneshot, and then somehow blossomed into this whole epic story in my head that took me totally off guard. I'm seriously having sooo much fun writing this though, so I hope some of you like it so far too. ^^

(I will say that making sure I get all this coded properly is a nightmare with all the italics/bold/whatever. X.X so if I make a mistake, I'm realllly sorry and I'll fix it as soon as I catch it!)


	3. Chapter 3

Finally! It has been way, way too long since I updated this I know…X.X (and I know, most of you want To Reign In Hell more, and there WILL be more of that soon I promise, but it had been longer since I updated this so I wanted to get a new chapter up.)

I would say that I can't wait until the semester's out and I'm back at work for awhile, but actually, as far as my writing's concerned that's worse. O.O (so I guess this is a heads up now? Unless I defy what I've been able to do for the past 3 years, there won't be many updates over Christmas. I'm sorry, and I really will try.)

Again, _Dean_, _**Michael**_.

* * *

Even though he'd travelled with Cas several times, it hadn't really prepared him for what it was like to travel angel speed for real. If he'd thought it was bad before, it was _nothing_ to how nauseating it was now. The whole experience was really giving him a whole new appreciation for what Jimmy had said about having felt like he was tied to a comet.

_Your mode of travel sucks, just so you know. _

Michael smiled, lips barely quirking up as brought one hand up to lean against the doorway. _**  
Better or worse than flying, hm?**_

_You know what, kiss my-_

_**Oh, relax. **_He knocked on the door, soft, and Dean couldn't help but wonder why he was going through with the whole 'normal' charade.

_Y'know, Cas doesn't usually bother with the doors._ Of course, Cas also had no inhibitions about showing up 2 inches behind him in the bathroom, close enough that if he stepped back he'd be right against him. A brief spark of heat flared in his chest at the thought but he shoved it back quickly, tried his best to block the thoughts out. The effort hurt like a bitch and he was pretty sure it still accomplished nothing, but he couldn't help but try. Problem was, having the angel in his goddamn head it was impossible to really hide anything from him. True, Michael hadn't really been prying _yet_ but that didn't mean he wouldn't, and there was plenty here that was no one else's fucking business.

_**Castiel also doesn't have to worry about upsetting you by showing up in your living room. Sam still sees me as his brother, and I assume he wouldn't be too pleased to have me just show up behind him. And you can stop wasting your energy, you can't hide anything from me. Don't worry though…**_ He could feel Michael's amusement, warm and far too real. Feeling someone else's emotions in his own head was a whole other level of wrong, and he couldn't help but bristle at it. _**Whatever you may think of me, I don't take pleasure in ruining your privacy. **_

Sam came to the door then, and both of their thoughts pretty much slid to a stop. He hesitated in the doorway, and _dammit_, Dean could see the sharp pain in his eyes before he stepped back, his face shadowed farther away from the porch light.

_Jesus, Sammy, it's ok, alright? It's ok…_ He couldn't help thinking it, couldn't help trying to _say_ it even though the pressure that pushed back on him when he tried to get control was so strong he never had a second's chance of breaking through. No matter what Sam had done, they'd been getting better. Honestly, he'd been working up the courage to sit him down for a couple beers, tell him that he'd been wrong to say things could never be the same, that he wanted them to, and if they kept working at it, he was sure they were gonna be just fine. He'd been almost ready to say it, and now this….

_**I could always tell him. I wouldn't mind, Dean, and I'd-**_

_The hell you will!_ He raged against him, furious, tried to ignore the pain of Michael forcing him into submission. He was getting pretty used to it, and _that_…that was something the son of a bitch had no right messing with. _That's between me and him, you got that? Anything important I have to say to Sammy, he's not gonna be hearing it through you._

_**If that's what you want, leaving him wondering. Personally I'd think-**_

_Well I don't give a damn what you think. Just keep your mouth shut about it, ok?_

_**Haven't I told you enough times already that I'll respect your wishes on anything private? My mission here isn't just to meddle in your life, you know. I was only trying to help.**_

Even silent as it was, it was clear Sam had picked up on their argument. His eyes were studying Michael's expression, and he swallowed hard. "Is he…" His hand tightened on the door, his throat bobbing again as he tried to bring up the words. "Dean, are you ok?"

Earlier that afternoon Dean would've been willing to bet there was _nothing_ that would make this whole situation just a little more bearable, but he would've been wrong. Sam talking _to_ him and not at him, that made him feel just a little more human and a little less like a goddamn Buick or something. It definitely helped. _Yeah. Yeah tell him I'm fine. And…and it's good to hear from him. Bored outta my mind in here._

He could feel Michael's agreement, and he couldn't help but be just a little bit grateful that dick or not, he at least didn't mind passing on messages. "He says he's fine, and that it's good to hear from you. Also, he's bored out of his mind." Michael chuckled a little at that, flashing a grin.

_Glad someone finds that funny._

Sam actually almost smiled too, but his was different, almost broken. "Yeah. Yeah, I bet he is." He coughed, looked away and stepped back farther into the library. "C'mon in. Didn't expect you so soon. Bobby's asleep and I dunno exactly where Cas is. He'd gone out to take down some wards but I'm guessing since you guys are here that he finished with that already."

Michael stepped inside, reaching out to take the door from Sam and push it shut behind him. "He might be awhile. I'm fairly sure Castiel has no interest in having anything to do with me."

"He's upset. Can't say I blame him." Sam's words were short, a little hint of anger showing in them. He slumped down in a chair by the fire, kicked the leg of the other one to scoot it closer toward Michael. It was the only invitation he was gonna get, and Michael took it, settling easily into the chair, his eyes studying Sam.

"And you? Do you hate me, Sam?"

_Of course he hates you, dick, now get to the-_

_**Quiet**_**.**_** I want to hear it from him, if you don't mind.**_

Sam's jaw clenched and he shook his head once, tense. It was clear the fact that it was Dean's voice speaking was clearly still effecting him. Dean's anger flared but he kept silent, fuming. It was slow going, but he _was_ starting to get the point that short of _asking_ Michael to do or say something, nothing else he did in here had any value other than to set him back. It was infuriating, but if he was gonna get anything done while he had he asshole inside him, he was gonna have to learn to work with those constraints.

Sam was looking into the fire, carefully avoiding Michael's eyes as he spoke. "Castiel says you were supposed to be one of the good ones." He looked at him then, his gaze steady. "You're supposed to save the world, not destroy it like we thought."

Michael nodded, slow. "That's true, yes. And I will do my best, I promise you that."

Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting bright in the semi-dark. "You're a little late to have me believing God gives a damn whether the whole world goes to hell or not, cause if he did, then he'd have made sure someone took me out before I went too far. Even if Dean couldn't do it, Gordan could've. Someone could've stopped this."

_Dammit Sam, __stop it__, I don't wanna hear this shit!_ They'd talked about it too much, that year before he went to hell. He could still see it in his dreams sometimes, the way Sam had clung to him in that hotel room, begging him to promise, to give his word that he'd finish it if the time came. He could still taste his answer on his tongue, feel the weight that had settled heavier on his shoulders from that moment. He always woke from the dream in a cold sweat, shaking, but he never regretted the fact that he hadn't gone through with it. Even if it came down to the end of the world, he couldn't kill his own brother, not for anything, and he was damn tired of hearing about it.

"You're upsetting him." Michael's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper but Sam caught it, his head dropping in defeat. He took a breath, ready to speak, but Michael didn't let him, leaned forward in his own chair to shorten the distance between them. "You used to believe in God, Samuel. You had such great faith."

Sam laughed, weak. "Yeah, and look where it-"

"Your _faith_ didn't get you here, Sam. _Love_ did." His head snapped up at that, and for just a second Dean could feel Michael's response, something fierce and protective and oddly familiar, but he hid it from him quick. "I know why you did the things you did, and I can't say I approve but I do understand. And so does my Father. He doesn't hate you, Sam. And I believe in you. You could be the Antichrist, did you know that? You're supposed to be. But if you're strong, then you won't."

Sam swallowed, looked down at his hands again. "I think we've already proven that I'm not that strong. Not when it's important."

"You're wrong about that. You _can_ do this, and I think you will." Michael settled back in the chair, leaning on one arm and facing toward the fire, still watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. " 'As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.' " Sam looked at him quizzically, and he angled his head just a little more in Sam's direction. "Romans 9:13. I assume you know what it's referring to?"

"The story of Jacob, the man that God named Israel." Sam's voice evened, settling into the easy rhythm of remembering research, and Dean couldn't help but be just a little amused. Honestly, he really was a walking encyclopedia. "He had a brother named Esau, but God favored Jacob."

"Not just that God favored Jacob, God _adored_ Jacob. It was on Jacob that he built the foundations of his people. But most people, they don't look too deeply into the story. Jacob, you see…he was a younger brother." His eyes cut to Sam, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And he stole the birthright from their father, took the blessing Esau should've had. He ruined his brother's life. He ran away, wrestled an angel, lived away from his family for years and married first by accident a woman he didn't love. By the time he returned to his brother he had a whole laundry list of sins, and he certainly wasn't done. Esau, on the other hand…Esau had always been the good son." Michael, paused, took a deep breath before looking back at the fire. For his part, Dean was shocked into silence. Sure, he'd skimmed the Bible before and he knew the parts that pertained to the job. Hell, he'd even heard this story told a couple times by Pastor Jim when he was a kid, but he'd never heard it told like this, never seen it laid out in a form that looked way too eerily familiar. There was silence from the space across from them, and he knew Sam was holding his breath, as shocked as he was. "But Jacob…God loved Jacob so much more. Do you know why that is, Sam?"

Sam didn't have an answer right away, and Michael didn't give him much time to think.

"God loved Jacob _because_ of his imperfections, not in spite of them. Esau, he was a good son, and God cared for him, but our Father, he loves those of his children that need Him, and Jacob needed Him desperately. He doesn't want you to be perfect, Sam. He just wants you to be willing to try."

"He neglects to mention that sometimes _trying_ gets you nowhere." Castiel's voice was rough, worn and heavy and tired, but Dean still responded to it, warmth diffusing through him at the sound.

_Cas._

Michael turned to face the door, dipped his head in greeting. "Castiel."

"We didn't bring you here to lecture him, Michael." His crossed over to take a seat on the desk next to Sam, his eyes hard and cold as they stared Michael down.

"It was a discussion, Castiel, nothing sinister I assure you." He pulled himself up to sit up straight, eyes meeting Castiel's for a moment before flicking away. "Right. You both want in on this, then you should know before we start that it won't be straightforward. _You_ already know this, brother." Castiel essentially ignored him, and he transferred his attention to Sam. "Lucifer is _smart_, and he won't be easy to find, but for right now, he doesn't have to be. We get at him however we can, and we try to stay one step ahead. There are things he'll be trying to do, and we need to be working to derail his attempts. We can't just on finding him and let everything else slide. This is a hunt, but our priority can't just be the end. The cases you're used to taking, if you focus just on the spirit you'll lose two, maybe three lives. If we focus just on finding Lucifer, he will end this with a body count in the hundreds of thousands before we've found him. I won't let that happen."

Sam stood, pacing by the fire. "You said…something about me being the Antichrist? Does that mean he-"

Michael shook his head, dismissive. "Don't worry about that. He might come for us, eventually, but I can take care of him if it comes to that."

"You say it like it's simple." Castiel spat the words out, furious. "Don't spare him the details, Michael. Tell Sam how your last fight with our brother ended, hm?"

Michael hesitated, licking his lips, and Dean felt just a little sick at what that had to mean.

_This doesn't end well for me, does it?_

_**It **__**ends**__** just fine. However the fight will be…difficult.**_

_In other words, he's gonna tear us a new one before you kill him or trap him or whatever it is you're gonna do._

_**Essentially, yes.**_

_Right._ Really, the thought should've bothered him more than it did. Obviously, he wasn't looking forward to the pain but he was no stranger to it. 30 years on the rack in hell meant there was literally _nothing_ he hadn't had done to him at some point or other. There were things he dreaded more than others, but he knew by excruciating experience he could withstand all of them, if he had to. He wasn't afraid, but he _was_ grateful all over again that Michael hadn't accepted Sam's offer without talking to him first. Whatever his reason might have been.

"What's Cas talkin' about? What didn't you tell me?" Sam was closer, accusing, and he looked like he'd almost been ready to yank Michael up out of his chair, but he was still _Dean_ to Sam, and the discrepancy was still new enough that the shock just barely kept him from it.

Michael held up one hand, holding off the questions. "As I told you before, Sam, Dean will be returned to you whole. I promise you that." He looked at Castiel when he said it, and though Michael didn't seem surprised when Cas looked away, Dean was, just a little. He'd thought a few hours away would have cooled him off a little, but the fury just hadn't lessened. Maybe it would've been the same if their places had been reversed, but all the same…it was still _him_ in here, and other than one apology earlier that afternoon, Cas had hardly acknowledged him at all.

" 'Returned' whole. Meaning he won't be that way the whole time?" If Sam's voice broke just a little, he did his best to hide it.

Michael stood then, took a step closer. "I have to fight him, Sam. Lucifer. The devil. That's something that can't happen without…difficulties. For _both _of us."

"Oh don't spare him the details." Castiel stepped up to him, right into his space the way only Castiel could, so close he could feel his breath warm and hard on his skin. "I was there, Michael, I was _there_ and I can _still_ remember the blood, the _sound_ when he almost ripped your spine out through your back and I can hear you screaming and you…" He ran out of steam, breathing heavy as he looked away. "You'll put Dean through that, and worse. And even if you fix him, he'll still have to have gone through all of that first."

He looked broken all over again, and the urge to hold him was sharp enough to be an actual pain. _Jesus. Just…I can't stand it, just…touch him, ok? Just…something to let him know I'm in here, and I can handle it and…_

_**I can do that.**_

He could see his own hand reach out, slow, and he itched to control it, to cup the angel's cheeks in his hand and kiss him until he could feel him relax against his chest, feel his heartbeat settle into something more normal and less frightened, his arms coming down to wrap around Dean's waist. It was killing him that he couldn't, but for now, touching him was going to have to be enough. Michael ran his fingers through his dark hair, gentle, settling in against his neck to squeeze gently against warm skin.

Cas jerked back like he'd been burned, eyes flaring angrily in the firelight. "_Don't_ touch me, Michael. Don't."

He should've understood, really. He knew how pissed he'd been when Sam had been possessed, yeah, but this…even if he didn't _want_ Michael here, this was different. _He'd_ been the one to ask Michael to reach out to him, and even knowing it was Michael Cas was responding to, the rejection hurt. A hell of a lot, actually.

_**I'm sorry, Dean. He's just-**_

_Don't. Don't try to…_ He longed to punch Michael, at least be able to really _scream_ at him, anything at all other than his ineffective anger. _This is all your fault. Don't act like sayin' you're sorry fixes anything._

"Couldn't you…shield him or something? I mean, I know you were trying to-"

_No. Tell him no way. Keeping at least some corner of my sanity is worth a little pain, tell him that._

"He doesn't want that, Sam." Michael rubbed the back of his neck, a little nervously. _**You're very brave, you know. I've always liked that about you.**_

_It's not bravery. I just know how to handle pain. It wasn't really a choice, just…something I had to develop._

_**You give yourself too little credit, Dean. You could have broken much sooner than you did. You **__**are**__** brave.**_

"He wants to do this. All of it. But we shouldn't even be worrying about that now, because that battle is months away from where we're at right now." He leaned back against the desk, and Dean flinched just a little more when Cas edged away from them again. "We can start looking for him, yes, but in the meantime I want to take on stopping a few of his plans. Perhaps the biggest of these is the unleashing of Croatoan."

_That_ had Sam's attention. "The virus?"

"The _demon_. Who will then spread the virus, yes. I want to find him, and kill him first. That act alone will save thousands, if we can get to him before he really gets down to business." Michael settled his hands further against the desk, leaned back a little more comfortably. "His first act is always to shut down the phones so Sam, I want you looking for areas where the wires have gone down. It won't be an easy search but I'm sure you'll be able to figure out some systematic way to go about it, hm?"

Sam nodded, all seriousness. "Yeah. I'll get started now."

"No, you'll _sleep_ now. You'll need your rest, trust me, because we're heading out as soon as we get a lead."

Sam hesitated, finally let his shoulders sag just a little. The poor kid was exhausted, Dean could tell. "Yeah. Ok. I guess I'll…" He bit his lip, held back whatever he'd been about to say and just walked away, disappearing into the hall. "Castiel, a word." With Michael in him like this, his eyesight and his hearing both seemed just a little amplified, and he'd heard the beginnings of rustling feathers that signified Cas was about to make a run for it.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Michael. I'll be here when they wake. In the meantime there are more useful things I can do than sit around here."

Michael whirled around, catching Castiel's wrist in an iron grip before he could get away. Dean growled angrily, had barely started to gather what strength he had left to fight Michael's hold before Michael pushed back on him, hard.

_**Calm down, I won't hurt him. I'm **__**helping**__** you.**_

_Yeah, well I don't need your help. Just let him go, __now__, dammit._

_**I told you, **__**calm down**__**. I'm not hurting him.**_

Still, it didn't look that way. Castiel tried to jerk away, his eyes widening just a little when he realized there was no way he was breaking Michael's grip. "I said I wanted a word, Castiel, and I meant it. _Sit_. _Down_." Cas looked furious, trapped and angry but also just a little frightened, and Dean felt sick seeing it.

_If you hurt him, I swear to God-_

_**How many times do I have to tell you, I'm **__**not**__** going to hurt him!**_

Michael released his wrist slowly, fingers peeling back from his skin one at a time, watching to see if he'd hold his ground. He did, and Michael leaned back against the desk again.

"What is it, Michael? Angry that I told Sam the truth?"

"You hurt him, you know." He said it lightly, conversationally, and Castiel laughed, bitter.

"_I_ didn't hurt him, Michael. You did that, when you took his brother from him."

"His _brother_ is still right here, Castiel, and it's him I was talking about. You were upset, and he wanted to comfort you, and you hurt him, pulling away like that."

Castiel froze, the hard mask dropping lightening fast, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.

_Dammit, can't you just let it go? Haven't you tortured him enough already?_

_**Am I wrong? Because I distinctly remember feeling like my chest was cracking open when he pulled away, and I know **__**I**__** certainly wasn't**__**that**__** upset about it so unless there's someone else in here with us you haven't told me about, it's pretty obvious that he hurt you. **_

_You know what, smart ass, did you ever stop to think that maybe my relationship with Castiel is none of goddamn business? As a matter of fact, __none__ of my relationships are your goddamn business so why can't you just let him and Sam both deal with this however they hell they want and stop fuckin' __poking__ at what hurts, huh? Better yet, we shouldn't have come back here to begin with, it's cruel, and you-_

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel's voice cut through his tirade, and Michael looked over to find Castiel looking at him, the apology clear in his eyes. "It's just…I…" He laughed just a little, soft and weary. "It's strange, talking to you like this. For as long as I remember I've been able to talk to my Father without seeing him but talking to you when I can't really see _you_ it's…" He swallowed, slid his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and hunched his shoulders, thinking. "I…_wanted_ you to touch me, because I know that normally, you would have. But things are different now, and I feel…_guilty_ for wanting that from you, when it _isn't_ just you." He licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he studied the floor. "I hate him. And I love you." His voice softened on that, wrapping warmly around words Dean hadn't yet had the chance to really hear him say. "I've lost my faith, Dean, and I don't…I'm not sure I can ever get it back, now. I was so sure my Father would never do _this_. Not…not when it was the only solution I didn't want. Was so sure my _friend_ would never betray me that deeply." He twitched just a little at that, his eyes almost cutting toward Michael, though he managed to keep them stubbornly down. He took a breath, his voice strengthening. "I've been cut off from Heaven for awhile, but I'd adjusted to the silence. I still prayed, and I still believed. But now I can't, and I have never felt more alone. And I understand you might hate me for it, but I'm not sure I can do this." He paused, seemed to shrink in on himself just a little more, his voice small and wounded all over again. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It's the last thing I would want."

With that, he was gone.

Michael didn't try to say anything to him, and for that he was grateful. It was a minute before he could gather everything in, pull his emotions under some kind of control. It was harder to do, trapped inside his own body like this. He couldn't reach in his jacket for some whiskey, couldn't throw anything, couldn't pull out the keys and go slide into the Impala and drive until he either decided to come home or found somewhere he felt like stopping. He couldn't even cry.

He cleared his thoughts, mentally shook himself and forced the whole conversation back. _So that was helping, huh?_

_**Dean, I-**_

_Do me a favor, will you? Next time you feel like helping, __don't__._

_**I didn't think it would go like that. Truly, I didn't. **_

Honestly, Dean hadn't either. Still, he _wouldn't_ blame Cas, but Michael…him he could blame. _Just…just stay the hell out of things that are none of your business._

Michael sighed, reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the Camel box and his lighter.

_Bobby doesn't like smoking in the house._

_**Then I'll go outside.**_

He hesitated, not wanting to _ask_ Michael for anything. Still, he knew by the way Michael hesitated that he could already tell Dean had a question. He _hated_ not being able to keep a single fucking thought to himself. _Just…check in on Sam. Make sure he's sleepin'. He keeps havin' nightmares._

_**Yes. I will.**_

* * *

Castiel pulled his collar up against the cold, his breath clearly visible in the frigid New England winter air. When he'd left Bobby's he'd had no clear destination in mind, but he'd regretted his words the minute he'd been out of the house. Not only had he managed to hurt Dean once, he was fairly certain he'd done it again, maybe even worse. If he kept this up, he wouldn't have to worry about what _Michael_ was doing to Dean. He'd manage to do plenty of damage himself.

Alone and hating himself for his failings, there'd been only one thing he felt like doing, something he'd always told himself he wouldn't do. Still, he'd stuck by the rules and they'd gotten him nowhere. If he _was_ fallen, adding a few more sins to the tally wouldn't make too much of a difference.

So he settled in on the park bench and waited, making himself unnoticeable with what powers he had, his heart lurching into his throat when the one he was waiting for finally made an appearance, coming around the corner with his hands shoved into his leather jacket, his head low. He looked around, sat down on the low wall himself and pulled a flask from an inside pocket, taking a pretty deep drink.

"Merry Christmas."

He choked a little when Cas spoke, pulling the bottle down and wiping the back of his hand across his lips before he turned to face him. "Startled me, man, I didn't see you."

His green eyes were dull even here so close to a streetlight, and Castiel smiled at him, just a little sad. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, grinned back. "Nah, it's cool. Merry Christmas, yourself." He held the flask out, questioning. "Want some?"

He cocked his head, a little surprised by the offer.

"Go ahead, I know you need it."

He took it then, let his tongue brush against the lip of the metal, tasting a hint of what he craved just before the whiskey burned across his tongue. He lowered it slow, handed it back and felt his hand burn when their fingers brushed. "Thank you. I do…need it."

"Figured. I mean, why the hell else would you be out here on a park bench in middle-of-nowhere New York on Christmas Eve? Less one of those houses over there is yours and you just wanted some fresh air, and even then I'd say you were probably havin' some kind of family trouble."

Castiel laughed, soft, and he turned just a little on the bench to face him better. "No, you're right, I'm not from around here."

"Well, that makes two of us."

He took another drink, and Castiel took the chance to ask him a question. "What brings _you_ here, hm?"

He hesitated, tapped the flask against his knee. "Cause it's about as far as I can get from Palo Alto." He held out his hand and Castiel took it, felt the warm strength in his grip. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel…Singer." It was the only name he could come up with on such short notice, but luckily Dean didn't seem phased by it. He let out a sharp breath, watched it fog up in the air. "So…what's in Palo Alto?" Dean just might need to talk about it, and if he didn't…well, he was Dean. He'd find a creative way to change the subject.

He smiled just a little, and the sadness in it was enough to make Castiel's chest ache. "M' brother." So he _did_ want to talk about it. Maybe. "He's going to school there and he's…he's smart, you know, real good kid. It's just…he just wanted to get away from the family. Make his own life, and…and he deserves that, if he wants it."

He trailed off, and Cas picked up for him, his hand tightening on the back of the bench against the urge to pull Dean into his arms. "But you miss him."

"Like you wouldn't believe." He smirked, played it off, but the honest hurt was there, and Dean quickly took another drink, held the flask out to Cas. "Here. I got plenty."

He thanked him quietly, took it from him and took a much smaller drink, silently refilling it with a thought. Not approved use of his powers, certainly, but at this point he was far beyond caring. "You should call him. I'm sure he'd love to hear your voice."

Dean shook his head, let out a sharp breath. "Nah. Sammy, he…he'd just think I was calling to give him a hard time about not being with the family for Christmas."

"You might be surprised." No matter how many times he'd been taught that the past could never be changed, he couldn't help trying. Dean was hurting, and even if that wouldn't have been enough to make him try, he knew Sam was too. Still, he wasn't surprised to see Dean shake his head.

He shifted, faced Cas with an easy smile. He was masking, sure, but he was also clearly at least a little drunk already. "So. What brings you out here?"

"My…" He hesitated, held a few different words in the back of his throat before he settled on the one that came easiest. "Lover."

Dean raised the flask in salute, chuckling softly. "Ah, I knew it. You have that dejected look."

"Do I?" He laughed with him, surprised at how good it felt. Even if Dean didn't _know_ him, he felt better just being with him.

"So…bad breakup? Or just a fight?"

"Neither." He looked away, eyes casting over the trees. It would snow, tonight, and when the spirit that haunted this little New York town every New Year started its work days later, Dean would be cursing that frozen ground for how long it took him to dig up the grave. But he didn't know any of that now. "He's…not himself." As close as he could to the truth, but he still felt like a liar saying it. Dean was Dean, just like he always had been.

"You try tellin' him that?" This Dean hadn't skipped a beat hearing Cas say it was a 'he', and that confirmed just what Dean had told him before. He'd always been open to swinging both ways, when the right guys came along.

"He's…difficult to talk to at the moment." Also true, and also still a lie. He hadn't really wanted this to come up.

"Not to stick up for the guy if he's an ass or anything, but maybe he doesn't know what he's doing wrong, you know? Cause I know I've definitely been a dick before without even realizing just how bad I was actin' so…"

Castiel nodded, looked down at his own hands. "I'm sure he has no idea he's done anything wrong." Because really, he hadn't. Not a thing. And that was what it made all the worse.

Dean had edged just a little closer to him while they were drinking and he elbowed him in the side then, gentle. "Well, what are you sittin' out here for, then? Go talk to him." Castiel could feel Dean's eyes on him and he looked up, mesmerized by soft emerald green. "Nice guy like you, I'm sure he knows how lucky he is." Dean's charm was practically legendary, and though Dean _had_ pursued him, it had been in earnest. He'd never had that kind of casual flirting directed at him before, and he felt his cheeks flush just a little under Dean's gaze. He could understand perfectly why Dean had never had any problems finding someone to come home with him. He was charming, yes, but there was a sincerity to his kindness that made it all the more alluring.

They were close, and he ached to kiss him, but even so he knew he couldn't. This Dean was hurting, missing his brother so much it was a constant weight on his chest and even if Cas managed to get Dean to take him home(which was half of what he'd come here for, whether he'd been willing to admit that to himself or not), it wouldn't be the same. He'd be a stranger in Dean's bed, nothing more than a potentially good lay and that wasn't what he wanted. He took another breath, let himself soak in Dean's presence for just a moment more.

"Thank you for the drink, Dean. And the advice." He smiled for him, let his hand brush Dean's shoulder as he stood up. "I hope you see your brother soon."

"Yeah. Good luck, man."

He forced himself to walk away, slipping easily back through time as soon as he was out of sight. Whatever comfort he'd found sitting next to Dean was already gone. He was in the junkyard alone, the South Dakota fall air feeling positively warm in comparison to where he'd just been. The cars creaked in the wind, and through the window he could see Michael sitting at Bobby's desk, head bent, reading by the light of the fire.

His chest tightened, and before he knew it his wings were out again, flapping against the breeze as he took off.

* * *

Once I started writing this one, it flowed really well, which was great, because I had intended for things to go differently, but then they went this way, and I like it better, lol

Hope you guys enjoyed it! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

One thing to keep in mind: I started this AU right after 5.01, so while there will be some elements from the other eps worked in, for this, those aren't part of the canon background. So, God is not missing, God is still calling the shots, if only to a very small handful of angels.

* * *

Sam stretched, arching back in the chair, hands brushing the stack of books behind him. There was hardly a room in Bobby's house that wasn't crammed full of books, but here in the library they were absolutely unavoidable.

He'd been going at the research for hours now, and even though his stamina at this sort of thing had really developed over the years, even _his_ eyes started to tire a little on the really long days. Michael sat across the room, in an armchair with his legs propped up on a bookshelf, reading and looking so much like _Dean_ that it hurt. Bobby was manning the other computer down the hall, and considering Cas had only popped in for all of five seconds to tell Sam to call him when he found something, they'd been stuck there alone together for quite awhile.

Sam sighed and leaned his chair back, looked away when Michael looked at him. Looking him in the eyes was still hard, and he wasn't sure when or _if_ it would ever get any easier. "There's no way for you to get any kind of clue as to where this is gonna start?"

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Michael turn a page, barely looking up from the book. "That's what I'm looking for, Sam. I know it might be disappointing, but I don't know everything." He shut the book, slid down a little farther in his chair and looked at Sam until he looked back, however briefly. "There are things I _do_ know, however, so I've started there. I know that Croatoan is an old demon, the soul of a man who died in Egypt during the 10 plagues of Egypt, and I know also that he is a consort of Pestilence, and they are often seen together. And, like the angels and the horsemen, he is important enough to require a certain human to contain him. There is a limited amount of forms he can take, which, if I can find a prophesy about his connection to his host, should help us narrow down our search."

"Huh." Even after getting used to having Cas around, he'd still expected _more_ now that Michael was there. Something about having an archangel on their side had made him think things would be easier now, simple almost. As if Michael would know Lucifer's location off the top of his head, run off and kill him and be done with it. Thinking about it now, it seemed both irrational to think that way and yet still strange that he couldn't do more. "So, angels just do research like anybody else? That's…"

Michael laughed, and Sam gritted his teeth against how goddamn much it still hurt. "We have our sources and our abilities, yes, but no, we can't pull anything out of thin air. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Sam, but in some ways we're as limited as you are. If God doesn't choose to reveal the information to us, we have to use regular channels. Sometimes it's easier for us to get that information with our powers, other times…" He gestured at the book in his lap, shrugging with one shoulder. "Some things take time."

"Still, if there's a prophesy, couldn't you remember it? I mean, Cas seems to remember stuff from millennia back or something like that."

"Do you have any idea how many prophets there have _really_ been? How many that have gone almost unrecorded? Beyond that, I know many prophesies, yes, and I never forget them. But those pertain to _me_ or to my garrison. Not to sound arrogant, I assure you, but I'm an archangel, Sam. I'm a captain and a weapon, not a library."

If anything, that knowledge humanized angels even more, something he was a little glad for, but for the most part it just lowered his opinion of them. They weren't that different from humans, really, and yet most of them still turned out as assholes. Sure, he couldn't exactly say he was _proud_ of the human race, but it seemed reasonable to say that at the very least half of humanity was decent, if not more.

He rubbed his eyes, tried to focus again on the task at hand. "So…it'll have to be a certain body capable of holding him. With the horsemen and the other important demons does it work like it does with the angels? From what Cas told me and Bobby the other day, sounds like there has to be a common factor with the host."

Michael looked up sharply at that, clearly curious. "Did he? And what made Castiel tell you this?"

"Just…that you were made to protect humanity, and that's why you wanted Dean." He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, wishing all over again he'd tried to push harder for Michael to take him. Even if it wouldn't have worked, he'd never have known for _sure_ unless he'd tried. "Cause he's the older brother. The protector."

He heard the sound of boots sliding off wood, looked up just in time to see Michael sitting forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. "Very good analysis on Castiel's part, I have to say." He nodded, half looking away as he answered. "Yes, there must be at least one strong common factor in those cases, preferably more. The more strong emotions or traits in common, the better the fit, typically. Jimmy Novak shared Castiel's fairly gentle nature, for example. As well as his intelligence, his capacity for love…excellent match, even though Castiel wasn't high ranking enough to exactly require it. It's only the strongest of us that really have to concern ourselves with it, with the vessels ability to truly contain us." His face flickered with something like worry, then, and Sam was pretty sure the indecision on Michael's face came from an ongoing argument with Dean. If it _was_ going on, Michael interrupted it, looking up at Sam. "Lucifer is having this very problem, now. He may burn through more than one, in his time here, though he won't stop trying for the one he really needs."

He wanted to say so many things, then. Ever since he'd raised the Devil, the constant self hatred had been hovering in the back of his mind. The urge to fix things with Dean was even stronger, but ever since hearing that it sounded like he was supposed to be a vessel himself, there'd been other thoughts warring for control.

He'd already done enough damage to the world as it was. He wouldn't be part of doing any more, not even remotely, and he'd already proven just how well he could be trusted to just do the right thing. No matter what he'd learned or how hard he was trying, he sure as hell didn't trust himself and no one else smart should be trusting him either.

He skimmed his hands over the keys, typing nothing, thinking. "If his vessel…if it wasn't there for him to take, what would happen? He's not as powerful in another one, right?"

"No, he's not, but Samuel, that's not how this story ends." His words were serious, just a little sharp with something that would've sounded like worry if it was Dean. And if it was Dean, he'd be calling him Sammy right about then, heavy with concern and fear and a few years ago he'd have pretended he didn't like it, but nothing could've been further from the truth. He took a deep breath, shoved his chair back from the desk.

"Couldn't it? Look, I think we can both agree I've done enough, here, and-"

It was so _easy_ to forget there was an angel in there sometimes, with how normal he acted. He startled when Michael was suddenly in front of him, crouched in front of his chair low enough to wrap his hands around his wrists, solid and tight.

"I've seen a couple possible futures, you know. I didn't like either of them." His hands tightened slightly, holding Sam's hands in place. "I will do everything in my power to keep them from happening, but you have to _help_ me, Sam. You can't give up. I won't _let_ you give up, and besides, do you think it's what your brother wants to hear right now, hm? Do you have any idea what everything you just implied is doing to him?"

_That_ was a low blow, in his opinion. Hurting Dean all over again, yeah that was _exactly_ what he was going for. He swallowed, focused on the computer screen. There was a map of Austin there, cell reception showing up perfect and stable. "Dean, I…you gotta understand, man, I'm tired of doing the _wrong_ thing, you know? I didn't listen to you, and I-"

"He doesn't want to talk about it right now. He's…adamant he'll have this conversation with you without me present, and however much I disagree with him, I can respect that. But Sam, look at me."

He did, even though he didn't want to. His eyes were bright green, open and honest and stung all over again just to glance at him, much less to keep looking.

"If you want to stop hurting him, then start _trying_. At this point, everyone knows you're sorry, and dwelling on it only gives Lucifer more to prey on when he speaks to you. He attracts the miserable, Sam, and he _will_ use your pain against you if you don't force yourself to deal with it and move forward." He released his wrists slow, rubbing his thumbs over the veins. "Besides, I've seen that future, and he doesn't let you take yourself out of the picture, I promise you that. Six months in hell, and you're his. And the world is gone."

Sam swallowed, looked away. Six months to break him…he wasn't sure he wanted to know if that was earth time or hell time. He was afraid of the answer. "The other future…what happened there?"

Michael stood up, flexing his hands slowly. "Dean said no." Michael hesitated, clearly on the edge of telling him more. "He said no to both of us."

His heart stuttered, a sick feeling settling in. "He already-"

"No, Sam. What he told you in that parking lot, that wasn't 'no'. That was him hurting, wanting you to fix things but not knowing where to start. He didn't want to give _you_ false hope, but _he_ had it all the same. No, the no I'm talking about refers to him saying no to me, and the two of you hunting together for awhile longer and meeting one of the Horsemen in a town in Colorado, and you telling him you thought it best if you separated for awhile." Sam could feel Michael looking at him then, steady and unblinking. "You were surprised that he let you go, and the first time Lucifer approached you, you called him, wanting to come home. And he said no. And six months later, you said yes."

_You said yes_. That proved even more that everything he'd said about himself a few minutes ago had been right. He proved time and again that he couldn't make the right decision, not ever. And like he'd told Cas yesterday, no matter how much he wanted to keep saying no, if Dean was involved all bets were off. He couldn't be sure, now, of what Lucifer had told him in Detroit, but if he'd said yes it seemed a pretty fair bet Lucifer had promised something for Dean in the trade. At the very least, he would have had to have promised Sam that if he said yes, everything would be over and none of it would hurt any more.

He laughed, sharp. "Sounds wonderful. So both ways, we're screwed, huh?"

"No. The second way has already been prevented by the fact that Dean said yes to me. What pieces of it could still happen, I don't know. And the other…I know you're smart enough not to take that way, not now."

Sam rubbed a hand over his jaw, thinking. He seriously needed a shave. Not to mention a shower. "So can you keep looking? Tell us what steps we have to take to get just right? I mean I know that's probably a lot of different futures to look at, but with so much riding on this I'd say it's worth it."

"It would be, but I can't. We can't just play with the future, Sam. We can go to the past however many times we like; it can't be changed. The future, however…we can only use the future to serve certain purposes, see certain ends." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching as he looked out the window. "In order to make sure I was properly motivated, my Father wanted me to see what would happen if I should fail either of you." He shook his head, visibly troubled. "And He was right. After seeing them…I won't let it happen. I won't let my brother win. I won't let _you_ lose. I'm sorry that it turned out this way for you, but there really is so much weight on your shoulders, Sam. If he can't get you, he probably won't win. But if he does, he probably will."

It was a little funny, really. He'd always thought if he took more responsibility on himself he could take care of Dean, show him that he didn't always have to be looked out for, that sometimes _he_ could watch out for _his_ brother, too. Not to mention, back before he was old enough to think of really leaving hunting he'd always thought that if he could run a case all by himself, maybe then his dad would be impressed. Responsibility wasn't all it was cracked up to be. This…this was terrifying. "Dean?" He bit his tongue, immediately hating how lost he sounded. Dean was dealing with enough already without him adding to it.

Michael stepped closer, looking down at him. "Dean has faith in you. As do I." Something in the way he said it was enough to have Sam looking up at him, curious, but he didn't have long to try to decipher it, whatever _it_ was.

"Think we've got something here." Sam jerked forward to sit up in his seat, looking over to where Bobby was wheeling himself in from the hallway, a few papers held up in his hand. "Lexington, Kentucky. From what I can tell, cell reception died in a radius around there just a couple hours ago at most."

"Right." Michael was all motion then, eyes glinting with excitement. "Call Castiel."

* * *

Man O' War Boulevard was quiet, and that alone was enough to tell him Bobby had been right. There were cars alright, plenty of them, but every one he could see from here had been deserted. The door of the black hummer next to them was flung open wide, alarm dinging to alert anyone listening to the key still in the ignition.

_Yeah. This is like Oregon, alright. Minus the creepy road sentinels. _

_**I'm sure they're here, farther down. This road circles around Lexington; I put us near the middle of the circuit. Croatoan likes to choose a central point to mark his tree. This is as good a place to start as any. **_

_I'm guessing the carving on the tree's a spell? Something that requires sacrifice?_

_**Actually, no. It's just a focus to his power. He could write the word anywhere, but carving it into something living or once living seems to give it a little more strength, initially. After the virus starts to spread, however, I'm not certain destroying the original carving would have any effect whatsoever.**_

_Peachy._

"He's still here." It was the first Castiel had spoken to him since the night before, and still it was terse.

Michael nodded, his shoulder blades practically itching already to set his wings free. "I can feel him, too." He was a presence in the air, something sinister and heavy that seemed to weight down the very clouds. They hung low and grey over the city, almost blocking out the sun. "Alright, we can take the city in sections. Castiel, -"

"I'm not taking orders from you, Michael." He bristled a little at that, frustrated. It had never been about _orders_ before. They'd fought together many times, over the years, and Castiel had always deferred to him and his rank readily, though considering their friendship they stayed on largely even ground. He wasn't trying to be overbearing, really, but _someone_ had to be in control here.

_C'mon, how much do you really expect of him, huh? Give him a break, will you, he looks terrible._

That much was certainly true. He'd come back looking more exhausted than any angel had a right to, and if Castiel had been _speaking_ to him he'd have told him he needed to get some rest. Separation from Heaven didn't seem to be agreeing with him. Or separation from Dean, obviously.

He let out a sharp breath, frustrated. "Stop acting like a child. We have to work together, and what I was _about_ to say makes the most sense. Take whichever direction you like, left or right, and we work our way through the city. They'll be setbacks, once they're infected there's no saving them." He explained only for Sam's benefit. Castiel knew all too well how a Croatoan outbreak went, after all. He'd been through them before. "None of us here can be infected so there's no need to be careful with the blood when you're fighting them. Just get the job done and _keep moving_; there's no time to focus on killing them all. I know it seems wrong not to stop and save who we can, but if we don't catch him while he's here, they'll be hundreds more dead in the next city before we can reach him." He looked out off the overpass, already planning his first move. "Sam, you'll stay with one of us. Let's go."

"Wait." From the look in his eye, he knew what Sam was going to ask before he said anything, and by the stir of impatience he felt from Dean, he knew it too.

_Dammit, Sammy, just go with it, will you?_

"Like you said, I can't be infected any more than you can. We'd cover more ground if we all split up." He held his head high, stubborn and daring one of them to point out the fact that _he'd_ brought this all down on them. He was either masochistic or truly hopeful, though Michael tended to think it was a mix of both.

"On the off chance that Lucifer _does_ show his face here, you don't need to face him alone, and I can't find you if you run into trouble. Now, let's go."

Castiel looked to Sam first, quickly registered his hesitation. Sam edged just a little closer to Michael, his intentions clear. Even if it wasn't his brother all the way, he still preferred to stay with Dean. Commendable, and not unexpected. Castiel nodded once before unfolding his wings and taking flight, darting left.

_Whoa. I could never really __see__ him do that, before, but…that was pretty freakin' cool. _

Michael couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. _**Yes. Flight, another advantage of sharing space with an angel.**_

_And I keep tellin' you, there __are__ no advantages. I'm just sayin', it was nice gettin' to see that, for once. But I'd have skipped it if it meant skippin' all this, too._

_**Your stubbornness is epic**_.

"You ok, Dean?"

_Will you tell him to stop askin' if I'm ok? For as long as I've got you riding my ass, think I'm as 'ok' as I'm gonna get._

"He's fine, Sam. We were discussing the…possible merits of him being able to see with my vision. And he doesn't want you to worry so much, he says he's as good as he's going to get."

Sam nodded, ran a hand down the barrel of his shotgun to pull it into a better grip. "Yeah. Ok."

_And there he goes with that face. Always thought surely to __God__ he was gonna outgrow that someday._

_**Wishful thinking. It's too instinctive for him to give up, not to mention too effective.**_

_Whatever. Tell him to stop makin' the 'you just killed my puppy' face. _

_**We have to get moving, Dean.**_ He reached out, steered Sam to the side with one hand on his shoulder. "Come on. We need to get started. Also…" He stepped over a fallen motorcycle, leading them off of the highway. "He says for you to stop making the 'you just killed my puppy face'."

Sam laughed at that, bright and real. "Let me get this straight, Dean…you've got _that_ elaborate of a description for it in your head? Cause usually I just get 'stop with the emo face' or some shit like that."

_Bitch._

This reminded him a little of the old human game of telephone, something he'd seen a few times in little ones he'd been assigned to watch over. A lot of back and forth, and something was usually lost in translation. Still, it didn't take much of his focus to relay messages, and as long as he still had an eye out, it didn't matter. "He called you a bitch."

Sam's face fell a little at that, though he recovered quickly. "Jerk." He muttered it under his breath, soft with affection, and Michael could feel Dean push against his control. It was weaker this time, more resigned and automatic than actual desperate scrambling. Sam cleared his throat, looked down the side road they were walking past before bringing his eyes back down to the ground just in front of his feet. "I don't know, Dean, you've got some interesting ones yourself. How about the 'I think I'm having an orgasm while eating this' face that you get over pie or bacon cheeseburgers, huh?"

There was a twinge in the air, something cold that he felt in his bones more than on his skin and Michael threw an arm out, catching Sam across the chest. "_Quiet_." Wherever he was now, he'd been here, or at least somewhere _very_ close by. There was a house to the right with the front door hanging off his hinges and he headed toward the porch, finger to his lips signaling Sam into full silence. He was almost sure to be gone, but if he could get a good sense of his trail from inside, maybe he'd be able to tell where he'd gone from here.

They moved inside the door in perfect formation, and he marveled for a moment at how in sync Dean's body was with Sam's without him even putting very much effort into it. They moved the same way, and when he stepped inside first Sam covered the door and his back, movements smooth but wary.

_We've had a lot of practice, you know._

_**Yes, I know. Doesn't make it any less impressive.**_

It wasn't a large house, and by the time they'd made it through the living room and the kitchen it seemed obvious it was empty, and whoever had been here had left in a hurry. In the kitchen a drawer was yanked open, knives scattered all over the floor, and that was all the evidence needed to show whoever had been here had been infected when they left. Whenever he'd been here, Croatoan was likely gone now. He tended to stay through to the end of his outbreaks, watching the chaos, but if there was nothing else to see here he'd have moved on.

Still they checked down the hall, just in case. Better to be thorough than wrong. At the first door on the right he covered Sam while he moved in, his attention zeroing in when he heard Sam curse. He stepped inside, ready to deal quickly with whoever it was. A crib stood in the center of the room and Michael understood immediately, shaking his head as he watched Sam try to control the urge to pick the little girl up.

"Leave her, Sam."

_Jesus, it's just a baby, have a heart will you? I mean, I can be pretty damn cold myself but-_

_**But **__**nothing**__**, Dean. It's not a child, not anymore. She's dead already, and believe me, no one regrets that more than I do, but trying to care for the shell that's left does **__**nothing**__** to end this.**_

Sam swallowed, one hand falling from his gun to clench tight around the top railing. "Are you sure? She's-"

"The only reason she isn't jumping you now is that she isn't old enough." He crossed the distance between them, spared a glance in the crib. She was still, staring up at Sam with eerie calm, the blood mostly clotted in the gash on her tiny forearm. He wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist, pulled his hand firmly away. "She's dead. We have to keep moving."

"Couldn't you-"

"There is _no_ helping them, Sam!" The fact that Sam had kept any measure of his idealism after everything he'd been through was encouraging to see, really. Even so, now wasn't the time for it, and in all honesty he didn't like being reminded of his failings any more than anyone else did. An angel of his rank could heal almost anything, but Croatoan's virus was debilitating, impossible to fight. Once he claimed a victim, they were already lost. He turned to the door, headed out into the hallway. "If we want this finished, we have to find him. _Quickly_."

There wasn't much hesitation before he heard Sam's footsteps on the hardwood, following him back out the door. From the front porch they could hear the baby cry when they slammed the door, and out of the corner of his eye he caught the way Sam flinched, something soft in his eyes Michael hadn't thought he'd see for a long time yet.

_He's always had a soft spot for kids. And everyone else. He just-_

_**Lost it, becoming you. **_

He could feel Dean riling up at that, a mixture of guilt and rejection warring in him. _I never __seriously__ told him he needed to be tougher. Hell, I called him out on how he was actin' before I-_

_**Went to hell? Yes, you did, but remember Dean…you went to hell. You **__**left**__** him, and I'm not arguing your reasons or your choice, but he was alone. You meant everything to him and he lost you, and he couldn't cope unless he changed. **_And he hand, drastically. From his vantage point he'd been able to see it all unfold, and he could still remember the cold look in Sam's eyes as he'd killed his second crossroads demon, drunk off his ass and missing his brother so much he was nearly crazy with it. _**And Ruby, she was waiting for him to play right into her hands.**_

_So this is all my fault, huh? He's totally unaccountable for his own actions; it's __all__ on me cause I should've…what? Managed to claw my way out of hell?_

Michael took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and looked over to make sure Sam hadn't caught onto their argument. He was scanning houses, gun held close as they walked down the street. _**Dean, I never said it was all your fault. All I'm saying is everything this deep has more than one facet. Unless you fully saw him fall apart, you can't judge how he put himself back together.**_

* * *

So far, Castiel had killed 10 and still had gotten nowhere. He'd passed at least four riots, and he'd been tempted to call Sam and let him know that most of the action seemed to be on this side of town. Still, he'd stopped himself just short of pulling out the phone every time. He hadn't actually _seen_ Croatoan or even felt his presence too strongly in any one place yet, and until he did he wasn't ready to have Michael tagging along. He wanted to wait for that until it was absolutely necessary, and even when it was he wasn't looking forward to it.

He wished more than anything he never would've agreed to letting Michael come back. Having him around was too much contrasting emotion all rolled up into one big mess. He missed Dean, and he felt guilty for alienating himself from him when he was already going through something he never should have had to endure. He _wanted_ Dean, and that led to another fresh found of guilt at the fact that it wasn't just Dean in there anymore and he shouldn't be wanting him at all. And then there was the problem of Michael himself, the older brother he'd always loved as one of his closest friends. He'd been a bit of a loner for the most part, but Michael, Hadriel and Gabriel, they had been his friends and his favorite brothers. Gabriel had vanished without a word decades before, and now Michael had betrayed him. In the end, his family was really no better than so many of the human ones he'd seen. Apply the right pressure and they pulled apart, far too easy to splinter.

When he came up on another riot he at first paid it little notice, and he was about to fly around the and skip to a street over when he saw him. He was sitting on a billboard overlooking the intersection where three men were holding a woman down, slashing open her shoulder to bleed into the cut. He was resting casually, one leg drawn up to his chest, and even from here Castiel could see the smile on his face as he heard the woman scream. He ducked into an alley quickly, phone up to his ear within a second.

After only one ring, Sam answered. "I've got him."

They were there before he could blink, Sam's eyes widening as he reeled a little from the high speed transport, one hand coming up to rub over his eyes.

Michael stepped up behind him at the mouth of the alley, close enough that he could feel his body heat behind him. Far too close for comfort. The shifted even closer to look over his shoulder, eyes scanning the crowd and he clenched one hand against the brick, felt it crumble against his palm. He still _smelled_ like Dean.

"On the billboard." He jerked his chin up, pointing it out, and he heard Michael make a soft noise of assent.

"Alright. I can take him quick if he doesn't run, but I could use your help." He could feel Michael's eyes on him and he turned just enough to barely face him. There was open hope there, and he hated it.

"Diversion?"

"Herding. Get over on one of those streets back behind him, don't let him double back once I start after him. I just need to get a hand on him; I can finish him quick."

Yes, he definitely could. Whatever else he was, Michael was beyond doubt the greatest power in Heaven, a true weapon. Even as powerful as Croatoan was, Michael would be able to burn him from his host with hardly a thought. For him, however, Croatoan would be more than a match. If he did double back, he'd have to be ready for a fight. Still, the plan was sound. "Right." He prepared to take off, eyes already on the buildings in the background it looked best to wait between.

"Castiel." Michael's hand brushed against his wrist, warm and rough, and he jerked his arm, his skin burning. Michael's voice softened, low and more wounded than he had any right to be. "Be careful."

He refused to look back. "I'll be alright, Dean."

"That was my request, not his. Though he definitely agrees with it."

He had no answer for that, and he took off, taking his place quickly. He was ready, wings spread and arch high over his shoulders, his hands flexing anxiously. Sam had Ruby's knife, and he never would have taken it from him. Whether he was strong enough to take Croatoan with his knife or not, he could never take Sam's only real defense against a demon this strong. Even if Croatoan wasn't likely to kill him. He paced a little, anxious, his eyes narrowing in on the scene the moment he saw Michael take flight.

It was surreal, still, and the fear for Dean that rose hot in his chest when he saw them clash back against the billboard wasn't exactly surprising. There was a little bit a struggle, and for a minute he thought Croatoan just might slip away. He had to have been on edge, ready for something like this. He'd have felt them nearby, but he'd been too caught up in his own affairs to concern himself with their proximity.

His mistake. The minute Michael pressed his palm against his forehead, it was all over. There was a brilliant burst of white light, and he heard the demon scream as he burned. The body flopped empty in Michael's arms and he lowered it to the ground careful, easing it down beside all the others now littering the pavement. He took his time getting back over to them, and by the time he was there Sam was too, kneeling down next to the woman they'd seen be infected.

He brushed hair out of her eyes, something bitter in his voice. "They're all dead. I thought maybe after you killed him…"

"No, it doesn't work that way. Like I told you, the virus is a part of him, in a way…once they're infected, they're already gone. The minute it hits their bloodstream it's like an extreme form of possession; the virus is the only thing keeping them alive."

Michael brushed his hands off, met Castiel's eyes over the carnage in the street. "We should head back to Bobby's. Plan our next move." He smiled grimly, proud all the same. "He won't be happy about this."

No, Lucifer certainly wouldn't. "Sam, call when you need me."

He wasn't sure where he was going, then, but it definitely wouldn't be Bobby's.

* * *

_**Dean, I'm sure with some time he'll-**_

_Don't__. _He could feel Dean trying to pull away from him, throwing up feeble walls that were nothing but transparent to him. He'd tried and tried to explain to Dean that _nothing_ he did would keep him from reading Dean's emotions, but the man was far too stubborn for his own good.

_**All I'm saying is that this is hard for him, harder than I hoped it would be, yes, but I can see why he-**_

_I said stop, dammit! You're…you're makin' him __hate__ me, and I don't wanna talk about it, alright? _

Michael shook his head, took another deep drag of his cigarette and leaned his head back against Bobby's roof. It was nice out here at this time of year if you didn't mine a little cold. Which, of course he never did. _**I am not making him **__**hate**__** you. He hates **__**me**__**, Dean, and you'll have to take my word for it but honestly, you're not the only one hurt by how he's taking this.**_

Dean was silent, a moment, and he could feel genuine surprise and more than a little anger. _What, you expected him to just be all 'oh go ahead, take him, I'm fuckin' fine with that'?!_

He smirked a little at the thought of Castiel cursing. He could still remember the first time he'd heard him get _that_ violent over anything, the day their eldest brother had walked out of the family for good, taking a few of their brothers and sisters with him. He hadn't wanted to see the family torn apart, and he'd railed at the Heavens that this _couldn't_ happen. Their Father had been silent. _**No, Dean, I didn't. I **__**did**__** expect, though, that he would understand I wasn't doing this to hurt him, that in my own way, I had no choice. I wanted…**_ He licked his lips, tasting nicotine. _**I wanted him to be able to **__**trust**__** that for his sake as well as for my own reasons I would take every precaution with you. But, it seems he can't.**_ He stubbed the cigarette out on the shingles, rubbing it and feeling the ash fall over his fingers. _**I'm going to check on Sam.**_

He appeared in the room just below them, focusing on the man sleeping sprawled out across the bed. He was twitching just a little in his sleep, sweating, his breath quick with something that seemed far too close to panic.

_Shit, Sammy…_

_**It's alright. I'll wake him up.**_

He sat down on the edge of the bed, reached out to gently grasp his shoulder. The bare skin was already damp with sweat, and he could feel the muscles quivering just under his touch. He shook him lightly, his voice soft and quiet. "Sam. Wake up, Sam."

He jerked awake with a start, eyes snapping open wide and terrified as he gasped for air. Michael tightened his grip, slid just a little bit closer. "It's alright. I know, you've been having nightmares since-"

Sam was shaking his head, his eyes still wide and a little shell shocked. He swallowed, took a deep breath though it did nothing to calm him. "Dean?"

'_M here, Sam, it's ok. Tell him-_

_**Wait.**_

There was dread settling in now, heavy and certain, and he moved close enough to meet Sam's eyes. "He came to you, didn't he?"

_He who? What are you…oh __hell__ no!_

Sam nodded once, licked his lips as he looked down. "He said…he said I'm his vessel. And I told him I already knew, and I wasn't ever saying yes." He looked up again, something pleading in his eyes that tugged hard at Michael's urge to protect. "He said there was nothing I could do. He said whatever I do, he'll win, it's inevitable…and that you can't stop it either."

* * *

That took me way too many days to write, cause I kept having to write it in snatches. Grr. lol

Hope you all enjoyed it, and I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving!! (and thanks so much for the awesome comments so far! 3)


	5. Chapter 5

So I was going to write some nice PWP, and then the next chapter for To Reign In Hell. But then I was driving this morning, and the next chapter for this just kept playing in my head and I liked how it was going so much that I wanted to get it down before I lost it. So, here this is, MUCH sooner than I expected to be posting it. :P This will likely never happen again, so don't get used to it, haha

Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments though!!!! *hugs all around*

* * *

It was dark in the room and Castiel approached the crib slowly, his eyes on the man standing over it, leaning against the railing.

"There's something different about you, Castiel. I hadn't heard you were taking a new vessel."

"And I won't be, not for another 25 years."

"I see." He turned, looking back over his shoulder to get a better look. "Well, he suits you well, I can see that. What brings you here, then, my friend?"

He didn't answer right away, stepped closer until he could look over the end of the crib. He leaned on the wood casually, watching. "And as far as I knew _you_ hadn't had a vessel since the 60's, Michael. What are _you_ doing, hm?"

"You should be able to tell, Castiel." There was humor in his voice and he grinned, reached over the edge of the crib to dangle his hand just over the sleepy baby inside, smiling wider when one hand came up, reaching for him. "It's an illusion, so I won't frighten him. Any other child and I'd be burning his eyes out right now, but him and his brother and their father…it wouldn't hurt them to see me."

"And Mary?"

"I'd hear her coming." The child stirred a little more, a small frustrated noise close to a cry breaking the quiet. Michael shushed him, stroked a gentle hand over his cheek. "So, why the sudden interest in my past, Castiel, hm? Why have you come here?"

"It's not so much an interest in your past as it is in my own present." He turned his head to look at his older brother, face relaxed as he watched the baby's eyes starting to drift closed. "Don't take him, Michael. Don't make Dean say yes to you."

Michael smiled softly, shaking his head without looking up. "And here I thought you'd learned your lesson about changing the past after that one Thursday in 1929 when you couldn't stop the onset of the Great Depression. How many times did you restart that one before you gave up? And I told you then, brother, you-"

"Can't change the past. Yes, I heard you but I…" He licked his lips, pushed away from the crib and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, looking out the window onto the empty street. "I had to try. It was too important to not even try."

"Do we lose? Does Lucifer have the world already, where you come from?" He reached into the crib again, pulled the blanket up a little higher around the now sleeping child. His voice softened, barely above a whisper. "And do I really want to know? I'm not so sure…"

"It's not…" Frustrated, he paced, his eyes darting over the walls. He'd seen this room so many times in Dean's dreams. Never a perfect recreation, but always similar. "Dean goes to Hell, Michael."

"Yes, I know." He leaned against the crib backwards, elbows against the wood as he looked up at the ceiling. " 'And the First Seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man spills blood in Hell.' We've all heard it, many times."

"But what you don't know, what _I_ didn't know until it happened…" He could still feel it all with such clarity, still see it in his mind. Blazing heat and fire and blood and screams, and the way Dean's broken soul had felt in his arms when he'd lifted him out of the Pit. "My garrison goes into Hell after him, and our Father passes down the order that _I_ am to be the one to pull him out. And he is _broken_, scarred from his time with Alistair and I have to take from my own Grace to heal him." His voice gained strength, more forceful the more he remembered. He could remember the moment he'd felt Dean warm with life again, the moment he'd placed him back underground and watched him draw his first shaky breath. "And it was my _right_, my job to watch over him from that moment on and I _asked_ you not to take him and you-"

"Stop." Michael was still smiling, and he'd never wanted to punch him more in their entire lives than he did right then. "All this time, and I never thought I'd see you really _take _to humanity. You love him, don't you?"

"More than _you_ can understand, clearly."

Michael's eyes glinted at that, all warmth in his expression faded. "And that's where you're wrong." He crossed the room, closing the distance between them as he spoke, his voice dropping low, still full of force and quiet anger. "I've always found it a little interesting, the divisions in our family. You soldiers, you're just…blunt instruments, for the most part." Castiel felt his wings snap free from his shoulders, arching in anger and Michael held his hand out, pacifying. "Please. You _know_ who I'm talking about. Raphael, Sandalphon, Uriel, Zachariah. Your superiors, and you've never liked them much more than I do. You on the other hand, we've always been close, and you _know_ how I love you. But even so, there are things you only understand by _doing_, things it took you awhile to learn and others you never really grasped even when I tried to explain. You remember, don't you, when our Father made the prophesies known to all of us and you asked me why I'd risk death opposing Lucifer one on one when I could go broader, finish it much more quickly."

Castiel's voice rose in competition and he stepped closer, staring Michael down. "I was _young_ then, I'd never even taken a vessel and I didn't understand about humanity, about-"

"And even after you learned, you only understood half the battle! You want to save this planet like I do and you have for a long time, I will certainly give you that, and I commend you for it. But the point I was making relates to what you've apparently so recently learned." His voice softened, eyes still hard and steady. "There's so much to love about them, isn't there? You see, what I was _trying _to point out is the fact that your kind, our Father made you to be the infantry. You're forbidden attachment, and for good reason. You have to be able to perform your duties free of favoritism, and I _understand_. But us? The very purpose for our existence mandates we not only be prone to attachment, we _require_ it. He made me to love this planet with every inch of my soul, and I always have. I always will. They are _beautiful_ in their imperfection, and even at their worst I've seen what they _could_ be, not what they _are_." He shook his head, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. "And I've watched over them at all times, as best I could. I have watched my youngest brothers have life after life in their hands, seen how they treasure the souls that _belong_ to them by right of destiny and blood. I have watched their devotion time and again, and I have seen more than one love their charge enough to die for it."

He'd heard him talk about his work before, certainly, but there was an edge to it that was only now truly familiar. He wasn't sure whose job he'd taken when their Father had told him to watch over Dean, but he knew that something inside him had changed gradually from the moment he told Dean he wasn't there to perch on his shoulder to the way he felt now. The moment he'd broken with Zachariah, that had been exactly what he'd chosen, to be Dean's angel and Dean's alone, and he wasn't sorry.

"I couldn't understand what it was like to watch over a single soul before, no. But I do, now, and that's what I'm trying to tell you, what I tried to tell you before. I love him, Michael, and I _know_ that no matter how hard you try, there's no guarantee that he won't die fighting Lucifer."

"Then we both die. I fail and the world ends anyway."

"If the world's ending, I'd rather have a chance to spend the end of it fighting with him."

"You _have_ learned a lot from him, haven't you?"

"_Yes_." Everything. He'd learned everything important from Dean, from what it really meant to be family all the way to what was and wasn't worth dying for. "Even if…even if it doesn't end well, it's better to stick together."

Michael smiled, eyebrows slightly raised. "Dean?"

"Yes."

He nodded, slow. "Well, I'm proud. For the most part our family has never been the best example of unconditional love so I'm pleased you learned it somewhere, even if it wasn't from us."

"Love? If you loved me, Michael, you wouldn't-"

"It was over 400 years ago that the concrete plans for this started, do you remember? Gabriel was still with us, and the three of us were watching the atrocities of the Roman Inquisition." Yes, he remembered. They had still been brothers, then. "Raphael came to tell me Father wanted to speak with me, so I went, and I met with Him." He could see a shimmer of Michael's true form then, light bleeding out around the edges as he was lost in thought. "I was so…proud, at first. I'd been ready to face Lucifer again from the moment I'd caged him, and here He was, telling me that not only did I get a second chance, but I was going to be given a soul of my own to watch over." He paced, glancing over at Castiel as he spoke. "I'd wanted that for a long time, if you remember, and I was so eager, so ready to give _my_ human all the formidable protection I have to offer. Imagine my surprise when he told me it would be _years_ before I would be allowed to protect him." Their eyes met, and Castiel could see the flash of anger in his eyes.

Michael paced quicker, his eyes flicking over to the crib and he lowered his voice, trying to keep quiet. Pointless, really. If they didn't want the others to hear them, they wouldn't. "He told me _everything_ about his life, everything I would have to watch, and when He was done, I asked Him, 'Father, haven't I always been a good son?'. I was…" He shook his head, fists clenching. "After all I'd done for Him, I couldn't understand why my Father would be so cruel. He showed it to me in snatches then, pieces of the whole. I would see him born, see him lose first his humanity and his mother and eventually everything that mattered to him, falling into the hands of a demon who would use him to raise our brother and make the final steps that would cement him as his rightful vessel, the prophesied Antichrist. And only _then_ would I be allowed to intervene. He explained to me, then, that He needed me to _need_ to win, to have so much at stake that I _would not_ fail. Beyond that, that if we _were_ to win, this man and his brother would be symbols of _why_ we had. The power of family, and the power of redemption. For our victory to mean anything at all, they would both have to choose. One yes, the other no." He stopped, eyes gleaming with barely restrained power. "In less than three months, I will have to _watch_ while Azazel damns him to a fate I would not have wished on the worst human I've ever encountered, and even though I could kill him hardly a thought, I will be _powerless_ to stop it!' He took a deep breath, pulled his anger under just a little more control. "So don't lecture _me_ about love, Castiel. Whatever bond you have with Dean, I'm happy for you. From what I've glimpsed of him in the future he is beyond all doubt a truly righteous man, and believe me, I care for him. Of all the vessels I've had, I could have never chosen one more suited for me. But I have _no choice_, Castiel. This is not only the world my Father put under _my_ protection at stake, but the life of the only soul I've ever been allowed to even remotely have as my own. If taking Dean is how I save him and everyone else, I have no choice."

At first, he was stunned into silence. Like he'd told Sam, he'd known that there was a prophesy involving Michael and a potential Antichrist. Beyond that, he'd known that part of Michael's purpose in stopping the apocalypse was to protect and save Sam, and he'd assumed that was part of why he had to choose Dean as his vessel. He'd never known this. He could feel the anger leeching out of him, draining away under the weight of sudden sympathy. "You never told me." Even whispered, it was loud in the silence.

Michael shrugged, turned back the crib and leaned over it again, watching Sam while he slept. "I never told anyone. I kept it to myself, and I waited. I wanted to be angry, but…well, He's still our Father. He knows best. I would've fought hard to save Earth as it was, but making me love him? Smarter than anything He could've done, really. I won't let Lucifer get far enough to claim him. I'd rather die. And I'm sorry, about Dean. Truly, I am. But I'm sure I told you I'd take care of him."

"You did. And I told you I didn't believe you."

Michael chuckled, warm. "Is he making you more stubborn, hm? I seem to remember you as much more trusting than that."

He had been, once. He'd been trusting most of his life, though the decisions made by his superiors in recent decades had started to chip away at that. His doubts had started long before he met Dean, and everything he'd learned since then had only bolstered those doubts. No one was infallible, not even angels. Or even his Father, he'd decided recently. He leaned against the wall, let his head rest back against it. "Living down here changes everyone, doesn't it?"

"That it does. And, I'd imagine living through the apocalypse changes even more. How is it going?"

"You just killed Croatoan."

"Good for us then."

He laughed once, humorless. "I don't…I have no faith anymore, Michael. I can't see where this ends, and I don't want it to end with Dean alone."

"Then don't let it. I can't imagine I'm really _keeping_ him from you, hm? Like I said, I don't want him hurt either. Besides the fact that I've _never_ lost a vessel, hurting him hurts Sam. And you, apparently, and I'd have known that going in to it. Don't you think I'm going to be careful? And remember, at the end of this, you're still the lucky one. I give him back, crisis averted, and you can stay with him as long as you like. Me? If I'm incredibly _lucky_, I save the world and save his life and he doesn't absolutely hate me when I'm done. That's if I'm _lucky_, and that's damn well the best I can hope for. But I'm guessing Dean loves you, doesn't he?"

He did, Castiel knew it. Michael himself had read it in Dean's mind, the day he'd taken him as his vessel. He hadn't said it, not out loud, but it was there in every other way. He could see it Dean's eyes when they were together, could feel it in the way Dean had held him to his chest just a week ago in the backseat of the Impala, grip so tight it seemed he'd rather die than let go. "Yes. Yes, he loves me."

Michael pointed at him, giving him a half smile. "Then you already have me beat. You've got more than I ever have a chance for, Castiel. He loves you, and you'll get him back. You'll be together, and you can protect him for the rest of his life. I have no illusions that I can ever hope for more from Sam than a lack of hatred, but that'll be enough, so long as he lives."

He hadn't wanted to feel sorry for him. He'd come here to try and change his mind, to at least fight with him in a form that wasn't Dean, that he could hit if he wanted to and not feel guilty for it. Underneath all the anger, though, this was still his brother, and hearing all of this he couldn't help but feel for him. "I'm sorry."

"Yes. So am I." He stretched, humanlike until Castiel saw his wings arch out fully, wingtips brushing the walls in the typical broad span of an archangel. Without a true vessel they were in their real form, and the light that cascaded from them shimmered off the windows. "We shouldn't be fighting, you know. I've always hovered over Titus, but you and I have always been close as well, and I can see now just how much we have in common. These two? They're our Father's chosen, his favorite children. The fact that he's given us to them…that's something we share, not something to come between us. The way I see it, at least." Their eyes met, and he could feel Michael's sincerity. "We're brothers. Whether you agree with the rest of them or not, even if you still don't trust our Father's judgment, we're still family. And if I'm dealing with trying to end a war that was meant to take close to 40 years quicker than that and with as little loss of life as possible _and_ making sure he doesn't get lured in by Lucifer, then I _need_ you. Whether I've told you that or not."

He looked away, something far too close to guilt stirring in his chest. "You could've told me."

"Well, from what I can tell of your mood here, you've probably been just this side of open warfare with me, so I doubt I've gotten much chance to-"

"About Sam, Michael. You could've told me, years ago." If he'd known, he might could have helped things go a little differently. "I could've-"

"Interfered. And I wish you could. Like I said, I've seen snatches of the future. I've watched him crying on his brother's shoulder the night he loses the woman he loves to Azazel, and I was there, Castiel. I saw myself, there, watching. I'm not allowed to do anything but watch this play out, and you wouldn't have been allowed to, either."

"I don't care about the rules anymore, Michael! I'm not playing these games anymore, I've left! I left with Dean, and I fought Sandalphon over defying a prophet's word, and we changed what he had written, and I died for it! I'm not afraid to change the future, Michael. Not anymore." Something else Dean had taught him. When it was important enough, what was asked of you didn't matter anymore. Certainly not if it hurt the ones you loved.

"So you died…and you came back?" Castiel nodded, hesitant, and Michael spread his hands out, gesturing. "And you need _more_ proof that that was what God planned all along? Castiel, if you weren't supposed to follow Dean, He would've left you dead. He doesn't resurrect for just anything, even more so among our kind and _never_ for a traitor. As you know, the punishment for that is death or damnation. If you weren't doing our Father's true will, He would've never let you live."

So by disobeying, he was obeying. As if the everything wasn't complicated enough already. He shut his eyes, tried to clear his jumble of thoughts. He'd thought coming back here would burn off some of his anger at least, help him face Michael on more neutral ground. Now, he was more confused than anything else. He cleared his throat, spoke without opening his eyes. "He doesn't hate you, you know. At least, not like I do. He hates himself too much to leave room for anyone else, I think."

"Well, it's a start. Do you still hate me, Castiel? If it's a fight you came here for, I'll give to you but I'd rather not hurt you and you know that's all that'll achieve. And, I won't get to see him happy for long. I'd like to stay here and enjoy it, if you don't mind." There was nothing he could say to that, really, and he kept his mouth shut, listening to the ticking of the clock and Sam's soft breath. With his hearing he could hear his heartbeat, soft and fragile and hummingbird fast. "He's just down the hall, you know. You've never even seen him at this age, have you?"

He shook his head, slow. "No. I haven't."

"Well?"

He nodded, already turning toward the door. "Goodbye, Michael."

"To the right, first door on the left after the bathroom."

The door was open, and he walked in quietly, taking a seat on the toy chest by the window. The bed was much too big for him, and he was curled on his side under the blankets, his arm thrown over a stuffed lion. His sleep was even and peaceful, and when Castiel looked in on his dreams they were simple. Him and his father, working on the Impala. There was no fire, no pain, no fear. He had no idea that in just a few months, his peaceful life would be gone forever. There was a picture of John and Mary by his bed, another next to that of him holding Sam in rocking chair. The one closest to the edge showed John from his days in marines, young and proud and strong. He'd been one of the first casualties of this war, yet another Winchester lost to the cause. None of it seemed fair.

Dean rolled over in his sleep, sprawled on his back. A year from now he'd still just be five years old, and yet he'd already be sleeping light, ready to be on his feet and shielding his brother within seconds. His childhood would already be gone. He could understand why Michael had seemed so mesmerized with watching Sam like this, easily. For once, it was nice to see Dean without a care in the world.

* * *

_He said whatever I do, he'll win, it's inevitable…and that you can't stop it either._

Dean felt the chill that ran through them _both_ at the words, and he just barely kept from panicking. The fact that he could literally _feel_ Michael's dread as well as his own told him it had to have been pretty strong, and that thought was nothing short of terrifying.

_He's not right, right? I mean, he's-_

_**No**__**.**_ The power behind the response took Dean a little by surprise, and he felt Michael take a deep breath to steady it, shaking his head once and muttering 'no' a little less violently under his breath. _**He's lying, Dean. Trying to frighten him. He'll pick at his weakness, next. His fears, his shortcomings…anything he sees as a chink in his armor. **_

Michael looked up, eyes locking with Sam's. Jesus, he still looked so fucking terrified. "Samuel, listen to me, alright? _Listen_." He'd been staring ahead will all the focus of rabbit looking down the barrel of a shotgun but he seemed to calm just a tiny bit at that, recognition in his eyes starting to show. "Lucifer is an _incredibly_ good liar, Sam. He can read your mind, and he will tell you whatever he thinks he needs to to make you listen. He is cunning, and magnificent, and not only will he go after your weakness but he'll try to appeal to your sympathy, if he thinks he can. He is a master of disguise, both his words and his own form."

Sam nodded at that, looking down. "He was ah…I thought he was Jess, at first."

_Son of a __bitch__! _It was bad enough that the fucking bastard had forced his way into Sam's dreams, but to do _that_? He could feel Michael's anger rising, mixing with his own, and for the first time he couldn't help but wonder if this was exactly why this was supposed to work, if when it came down it they could kill Lucifer through force of their combined hatred.

Michael nodded, let his hand slip from Sam's shoulder. "Taking a familiar form to put you at ease before he sprung everything on you. Yes, that sounds like our brother." He tucked his wings and moved quickly, appearing on the other side of the bed, sitting back against the headboard. "Sam, I need you to tell me everything he said. All of it, even if it doesn't seem important." He reached into Dean's jacket pocket, pulled out his lighter and the box of cigarettes. He tipped it toward Sam first, offering. "Here. It'll calm your nerves."

Sam shook his head, sitting back and rubbing his face hard. "No thanks."

Michael shrugged, took his own out and lit it, breathing deep. "Alright. Start at the beginning."

Sam was hesitant, and when he started it was slow. "Alright, ah…I was asleep. Here, at Bobby's, and I thought I'd woken up, but she was here and…" He shook his head, incredulous. "It was stupid, thinking somehow I was talkin' to her, it was-"

"That's not stupid, Sam. Not at all. Go on."

"She had been saying that I couldn't change, I couldn't…deny what I was, even if I wanted to. And Lucifer, when he showed himself, he was saying first how he wanted to thank me for releasing him, to give me something, and I told him there was nothing I wanted from him." Even angry as he had been about everything else, Dean couldn't help feel a fierce burst of pride at that. Deep down, he'd known that Sam could come around, that underneath all the shit Ruby had gotten him to believe his Sammy was still in there, somewhere. "And he said, ah…he said that I was his vessel, and I told him I knew, and I wasn't saying yes. And he told me pretty much what you did, that I couldn't die because he wouldn't let me."

Something flickered in his eyes, then, and Dean could tell there was something about this he really wasn't wanting to say.

"He said that he'd never lie to me, and he'd never try to trick me…" He looked up, eyes flicking over to Michael. "But that you had, and you'd keep doing it, and you'd never trust me even if I kept telling him no." He sped up, pushing quickly through the rest of it. "Then he said that he felt bad for me, and he wished things hadn't turned out this way but that if I said yes to him, it'd all be over, and I wouldn't have to worry about anything else."

Michael laughed at that, sharp and cold. "Yes. He's right, it's not easy to worry when you're in impossible agony. Even harder when you simply cease to exist."

If he'd had control of his own body, he knew he'd have been turning white right about then. _He takes control, and that's it? No saving Sam, not ever? Not even if we could get him back out?_

_**He takes control, Dean, and there's no Sam left to save. It'll be torture, at first, and then he'll be gone. Even his soul. **_

_Jesus…_ As recently as just a couple weeks before he'd been trying so hard to convince himself that at this point there was nothing he couldn't endure, even losing Sam. He'd thought that after having to watch his little brother become the monster he never wanted him to be, even seeing him die wouldn't have had the impact it once had. Even considering the thought, now, he could see just how wrong that was. If he lost Sam now, he'd fall apart just like he had in Cold Oak, and if there was no chance of ever saving him after that, no way of bringing him back…

_**Stop. It won't get that far, Dean, I won't let it, do you understand? We aren't losing Sam, not like this.**_

_We?_

Michael shifted the cigarette between his fingers, sifting off ash and making it vanish before it hit the bed. "As for what he said about me…well, he _would_ try to turn you against me, of course. He knows I want to help you. I haven't lied to, Sam, and I won't. Not ever. But I can't say I didn't trick you, and I won't say I'm sorry. I had my reasons, and I stand by them. And just because I won't tell you what they are doesn't mean I'm lying to you, because I'm not. It just means…" He took another drag, buying himself a second. "You wouldn't understand. But I won't trick you again, I promise. And I absolutely _will never_ lie to you."

There was a flutter of wings then and they both looked up, Dean feeling a shock of surprise to see Castiel standing at the end of the bed. He was still paler than he should've been and his eyes looked tired, but for the first time he was actually _looking_ at Michael without glaring or flinching away, and Dean tried not to let himself get too hopeful.

"Cas?" Sam spoke first, questioning, and Cas turned toward him.

"Hello, Sam." His eyes flicked between them, curious. "What's going on?"

"Lucifer was in his dream, Castiel." His eyes smoldered at that, and warmth settled in Dean's chest at the sight. Cas loved Sam too, and whether it was just for his sake or not, he didn't really care. It was good to see either way.

"Are you alright, Sam?"

Sam nodded, a little too quick. "Yeah. Yeah, m' fine."

The look that Cas gave Michael then was somewhere between knowing and furious, and through Michael's surprise he seemed a little pleased. "He tried telling him I was a liar who cared nothing about him, and that _he_ felt his pain. And that if he said yes, everything would be happily over, of course."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, dangerous. "Can we track him? If he comes into his dream again and one of us is watching-"

"If it's you, he'll pull you in and kill you there, you know that. And if he can sense me watching, he won't show up at all."

_He'll __what__?_

_**Don't you remember anything about using the African Dream Root, hm? It'd be even easier than that for him to kill Castiel, honestly, because to walk a human's dream we put our whole selves into them. It takes a great deal of power anyway, and Lucifer is so far beyond him that he wouldn't even be able to run before he caught him. **_

_Then him he's out of his fucking mind! We'll find him another way, just-_

_**Are you not listening? I **__**already**__** told him no, there's no sense in overreacting.**_

"Dean?" If he could've, he wouldn't jumped. He hardly ever got addressed these days, and even then 90% of the time it was Sam. Michael had been watching Sam while they argued, but he apparently felt Dean's need to see Cas' face then because he obliged, turning to face him. His eyes were startlingly blue, brighter than they had been in days.

As good it was to hear from him, he couldn't help but still be a little wounded. Selfish, maybe, but after all _he_ was the one stuck inside his own goddamn head. If this was hard for _anybody_, it was hard on him. _Decided he's talkin' to me now, huh?_

Michael hesitated, licking his lips. "He's...upset, that you haven't been speaking to him. In his defense he hasn't been adjusting to this all that well, and from what I can tell it's bothered him that you've been punishing him for saying yes to me."

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up. At the same time, though, it was fucking frustrating to have Michael there reading his every thought, because while he might have been _feeling_ that way, it didn't mean he wanted Cas knowing it.

Something softened in his eyes and he reached out, only hesitating a second before fitting his hand against his shoulder, the gesture plain even if Dean couldn't feel his hand against the print through his clothes. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."

He wanted so desperately to touch him then, to pull him in and kiss him, tell him he didn't need to apologize. To at _least_ rip the damn jacket off so he could slide his hand up under the sleeve and touch him, the contact at that one point strong and electric. But there was Michael, and no matter how hard he pushed he wasn't getting anywhere. And even if there hadn't have been Michael, there was _Sam_, and even though he knew Sam knew, now, he'd still have rather talked to him about it before he kissed Cas in front of him. All things considered, he said only what he knew. _Ok. Tell him it's ok._

_**You need to work on your communication you know.**_

_Oh, like I need relationship advice from you. Tell me, when was the last time you-_

_**It was just a suggestion, Dean.**_

"It's ok. He's ok."

Cas pulled his hand away slow, a little reluctant. That was a good sign, at least. Dean could feel Michael's curiosity rising, and he wasn't that surprised when he turned to Sam. "You should get some rest, Sam."

Sam nodded, clearly distracted, and Michael held his hand out, two fingers outstretched. "I can't do this all the time, but if you wanted…you won't dream."

It was only a second before Sam nodded, shutting his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Yeah. Yeah, ok."

Michael reached out and brushed his fingers across his forehead, his touch light. He was out immediately, and Michael eased him down with strong hands, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders as he stood up.

"He's afraid."

Michael nodded without looking up, his hand lingering a second longer on Sam's shoulder. "Wouldn't you be?"

Stuff like that, _that_ was exactly what had Dean worried. This was the damn _devil_ they were talking about. Even the most badass angels were afraid of him, and here he was, gunning for Sam. They really did have the world's most horrible luck.

"Michael, I'm sorry." His head shot up at that, startled. "I didn't realize-"

"Just who have _you_ been talking to, Castiel? Not our Father?"

_Wait, what makes you think he just came out of a conversation with __God__, huh?_

"No." Cas looked him in the eye, managing it once again without open hostility. "_You_."

_Whoa, what?_

Michael seemed to think it over for a moment before he smiled, laughing a little as he made his way over to the door. "I _remember_ now. At the time, I wasn't sure just when you'd come from, exactly, so I'd almost forgotten." He pulled the door open, stepping out into the hall and waiting against the wall for Cas to follow. "So, I had an impact? You've always been stubborn, I wasn't sure I'd gotten through to you at all."

"If you'd told me sooner, I might have-"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep this between us for now, hm?"

Cas tilted his head, and Dean could tell he wasn't exactly comfortable with keeping it a secret, whatever 'it' was. _Keep what between you two? What aren't you tell me?_

_**Nothing that concerns you, Dean. **_

Cas gave in, nodding once. "Yes. Alright."

"So…" Michael leaned fully up against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. "Am I forgiven?"

Cas almost smiled, and for the first time since all of this had started Dean was almost happy. "You? I'm working on it. Dean on the other hand, I still owe him a proper apology." His eyes flickered to Michael's shoulder, purposeful, and he uncrossed his arms, sliding the jacket it off and letting it fall to the floor. Cas was already moving to step in closer when Dean gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

_Get rid of the shirt. _If Cas was actually gonna touch him, he wanted to feel him everywhere. It had been too fucking long already. Michael nodded, understanding. "He wants…here." He took the hem of the shirt in his hands and yanked it over his head, dropping it beside the jacket in the hallway.

Cas' eyes roved over his chest, and Dean could see them darken with lust as his breath quickened. He licked his lips before he closed the distance between them, his hand fitting against the mark at the same time his lips closed over his pulse.

_Fuck__, Cas! _Touching him there always heightened sensation for both of them, and after going without his touch entirely he could feel everything in him buzzing with the power of it. Now that he'd touched him Cas had loosened up a little and his other arm wrapped around his waist, their chests pressed together as his lips roved over his neck. It was dizzying, and for awhile he did nothing but bask in it, lost in the way Cas' teeth and tongue felt against his skin.

He'd gotten used to his odd disembodiment of feeling but not controlling, and so at first he didn't notice that he was all that physically effected. He could feel everything, sure, but he'd gotten so caught up in the white hot pleasure of the connection between them that it was a moment before he felt himself hardening against Cas' hip. And yeah, being horny was a state totally out of conscious control, but he was somewhere in the back of his own head, incapable of even _un_concious control. Which meant Michael was getting something out of this, too.

When Cas had first come storming out of the house, furious and hurting, Dean had told Michael then that anything that made Cas feel better about all this was perfectly fine with him. Hell, he'd thought that if they _were_ still sleeping together, that'd be one thing to make this not suck quite so much. Of course then Cas had gotten so touchy about it all that that had seemed out of the question, but he'd still been sure he wouldn't object if it came up.

_Now_, though…well, now that it was happening, he was a hell of a lot angrier than he'd expected to be.

_Hey__! He's not yours, goddamit! That's…that's for me, not you, and you-_

_**Really**__**?! Are we really going to have this discussion? In case it's escaped your notice, I am in your body, Dean! Disregarding the fact that **__**any**__** human man would respond to this, your body responds particularly well to his, for obvious reasons. **_

_Yeah, because he's mine! _Irrational or not, he couldn't help it. The thought of anyone else getting off from Cas' touch infuriated him.

_**For the last time, I don't want him! I don't care! Look, like you said, this is for you, alright? Just enjoy it. He's my brother, Dean, can you understand that? Believe me, I'm not trying to take him from you. I'm just…incapable of not enjoying it. **_

Cas slowed then, clearly feeling the way Michael had tensed in his arms. He brushed his lips over damp skin, his breath ragged. "Dean?"

_**If it's **__**really**__** what you want, I'll tell him to stop. But I swear, Dean, this isn't…I'm not trying to **__**take**__** anything from you. If anything, I'm willing to **__**give**__** you this, since I've taken so much else from you.**_

Looking at it that way, it seemed a little better. Slightly. He still wasn't sure he liked it, but at the same time he had to decide fast, and he honestly _didn't_ want Cas to stop. _Tell him…tell him I missed him._ True, and effectively evading the question of whether or not he was really ok with this.

Michael licked his lips, tilted his head back a little farther against the wall. "He missed you."

Cas held him tighter, breath hot against his neck. He shifted closer, and if he could've Dean would've moaned when Cas' hip pressed harder against his groin. "Dean, I-"

Just then, from downstairs they could hear the sound of someone knocking hard on the door.

* * *

:D

Oh, and I know I introduced a really new plot point in this chapter, and I really hope you don't all hate it, ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry it's been awhile, guys! Between holidays and going back to work for awhile, things got pretty crazy. X.X

* * *

Michael tensed, one hand sliding up to brace cautiously against Castiel's shoulder. "The wards you-"

"They only protect us from the demons. I took the others down to let you in." Castiel stepped back, eyes flicking away as he licked his lips. He adjusted his shirt uneasily as he shifted away, and Michael knew he was trying his hardest to look less frustrated than he was that they'd been interrupted.

For once in his life, Michael could feel that Dean wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or relieved. He'd been struggling pretty fiercely between his desire for Cas and his desire to keep Cas all to himself, and though immediacy had taken precedence for the moment Michael could feel him still thinking about it hard, considering. Later, he just might decide he couldn't bear to share him, and Michael wouldn't exactly be surprised. Dean wasn't well known for sharing.

The funniest part though, really, was that as far as things like this went, Dean couldn't have had anyone safer in control of him. Besides the fact that Castiel was his brother, he didn't have the desire to try to take anyone from anyone else. He had enough unattainable as it was already, honestly.

He dressed himself again with a thought, brushed past Cas slightly on his way toward the stairs. "Come on. Come with me. We'll see who it is." He made sure he reached the ground floor first, keeping himself in front of Castiel as he reached out to open the door. On the off chance that it was Zachariah or someone else dangerous, he wanted to be in the line of fire first, a sentiment that he could feel Dean shared. He was certainly no stranger to putting himself between the people he loved and potential danger.

He swung the door open in one quick movement, his blood boiling the minute he saw the man that stood under the porch light. His wings snapped from his shoulders without a thought, arching uncomfortably in the small space. "_You_. You aren't welcome here. Get the hell out." The words snapped out sharp, crackling with power, and he barely registered the sudden spike in Dean's confusion.

_Whoa, hey, I mean, he's annoying but is it really that big a-_

"_Gabriel_?" Castiel's hushed voice came from somewhere just behind Michael's shoulder, and he threw out his arm, catching him across the chest and holding him back, his eyes never leaving the man that now leaned against the doorframe, casually rubbing his nails off on the sleeve of his shirt.

"There's no need to greet him, Castiel. He isn't staying." It came out in a low dangerous murmur, something close to a growl edging up from his throat. "Isn't that right, my dear _brother_?"

_Wait, __what__?!_

_**Patience, Dean, until I've dealt with him, please. Don't worry, he **__**isn't**__** staying.**_

"Actually, I am staying, Michael. I mean, why else would I come all this way?" He smiled, lopsided, his eyebrows quirking up a little as he looked past Michael. "Hey, Castiel. It's good to see you, little brother."

"I-"

"Don't." Michael cut him off sharply, took another step forward to further block the doorway. His eyes narrowed, vicious. "I told you to leave. I'm not asking."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, stretched empty hands out placatingly. "What's got you so ruffled? So I killed your vessel a few times. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have ever left him like-"

There, he lost his temper. He'd been pretty sure he could keep it in line until he managed to run him off, but the worry in him after Sam's contact with Lucifer was still too sharp, too real, and he snapped, darting forward and taking Gabriel back with him, pinning him hard to the gravel just in front of the house. Gabriel barely had time for his wings to arch out before they hit the ground; it wasn't enough for him to get leverage, and he ended up flapping uselessly a couple times before surrendering, a little bit of honest shock in his eyes.

"Whoa, hey, I just came to _help_ you, but-"

"I don't need your help."

"Don't you? I mean c'mon, bro…this is _it_." He was earnest, just a little pleading, but Michael absolutely didn't care. "I mean, you already _know_ I was sick of watching our family tear itself apart, and I was gonna sit this one out, too. But then I heard you'd come down here and already taken out Croatoan and I thought, might as well take up with you, try to minimize how much of the family gets killed by helping this go down quick."

"The same way you helped put Sam in the perfect frame of mind to make him vulnerable to Ruby, hm?" His wings flapped angrily, arching higher over his back, blocking the light from the doorway.

Gabriel's eyes widened a little, surprised. "Is _that_ what this is about? Look, you know me! I was just tryin' to teach the guy a lesson, but he's _so-_"

Michael shook him a little harder than he meant to, knocking his head back hard against the gravel. "You _tortured_ him, Gabriel! Enough was enough, but six _months_?! Do you have _any_ appreciation what that did to him? What it _taught_ him about the kinds of things he had to be willing to do to make sure that never happened?"

_Mike, what the __fuck__ are you-_

_**Just **__**wait**__**.**_

"Yeah, and I was trying to teach him that-"

"It doesn't matter! You knew he wouldn't change. They never will! All you did was make matters worse, and you _had_ to know it! You were just…_screwing_ with him, just-"

"Geez, can I say I'm _sorry_? Look, I've got no idea why it's got you so worked up, but-"

"It made all the difference in the world for him, Gabriel, and I had to _watch_ it happen, and every _minute_ of those hundred days and that six months, I was _itching_ to tear you apart." Miraculously, his voice was almost steady. Almost. "And you show up here, offering _help_?" His hands tightened reflexively against his chest and he pushed back and off before he did any real damage, sweeping back with his wings and landing lightly on his feet, glaring down at him. "Well, you can go to hell. Go, go join our brother for all I care, just get out of my sight."

"Michael!"

He jerked a little at Castiel's voice, twitched even harder at the steady grip of his hand against his shoulder, reassuring and restraining. As if he could ever hold him if he really _wanted_ to get away. He cut his eyes back over his shoulder, dimly registered the reproach and shock in those bright blue eyes.

"We could _use_ him. Let me talk to him…_explain_. About Sam?" His voice was too annoyingly hopeful.

Michael gritted his teeth, wings folding in hard and angry against his shoulders. Rationally, Cas was absolutely right. Another archangel on their side could only be a positive change, but all the same, he wasn't sure he'd be able to work with him after what he'd done. He wasn't even sure he could manage to coexist in the same state with him, much less be working out of the same house. Still, if he was willing to help fight this war…

"Do what you will, but I'll have nothing to do with him. He'll be _your_ responsibility."

"Hey, now, you know I love Castiel, and not to pull rank or anything, but-"

Michael whirled around, fists clenched. "If you do stay, you stay under _my_ rules. And those include the fact that any creature in this house down to the lowest _rodent_ is above _you_."

Before he could catch Gabriel's reply, he disappeared into the house. He retracted his wings quickly, paced the length of the kitchen twice before he calmed down enough to really pay attention to Dean's impatience. Oh. He _had_ promised him an explanation after all. To his credit, Dean was finally learning not to fight against his control, and that was certainly a step forward. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't still easily frustrated by the whole process.

_**Right. I believe you knew him as a Trickster?**_

_Yeah. So he's an __angel__?!_

_**An archangel, actually. My age, and very powerful though he doesn't exactly **__**flaunt**__** that or even use it for anything purposeful so much as he does just **__**play**__** with it. Still, he's just laidback, and that was never my problem with him. The argument I have with him regards the way he treated Sam in Broward County. **_

_I remember. But how the hell do you know so much about that, anyway? And what the hell six months are you talking about? That was about four months 'til hell, not-_

_**No, not six months for you.**_ Michael took a deep breath, leaned back against the counter on his elbows, ready for the onslaught of emotion and yelling this was sure to spark. _**Six months for **__**Sam**__**. He never told you because I think he didn't want to upset you, but the day he first confronted the Trickster…that next day wasn't the Wednesday you remember. It was **__**another**__** Wednesday, and you were shot by a mugger in the parking lot, and you died in his arms, and he spent six months alone that he remembers with perfect clarity. It showed him just how much he couldn't live without you, and the fact that he'd have to be ready and willing to do **__**anything**__** to get you back. Which is part of why he was so accepting of Ruby's instruction when it came to hunting down Lilith for revenge. He'd already lived without you, he was already broken…he didn't have much farther to fall. **_

At first there was nothing, and with everything he knew of Dean at this point, that was honestly worse than the yelling. He could feel it, quiet horror and pain and shock that went beyond words, and he shut his eyes, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm sorry, too." It broke the silence in the kitchen, and hearing the words aloud seemed to shake Dean a little.

_Yeah, I can tell. Thing is, I __know__ why it matters to me. But you just went all Cujo on him without any of my input, and without me even having a full picture of what the hell was goin' on. So, what is it about Sammy that's got you so riled up, huh? Just 'cause he represents an important chess piece here?_

There was a lot of bitterness to the last part, and Michael reigned in his own flaring anger. No. No, no, no. Above all things, Sam wasn't just a game piece in this. Certainly not to him. That was how Lucifer saw him, without a doubt. Just a piece of useful meat to be won. Still, as much as he ached to deny it, he wasn't sure Dean was ready for a talk about what exactly Sam _did_ mean to him.

He licked his lips, shook his head once. _**Something like that, I guess you could say. But he's not just a chess piece. He deserves…**_ Happiness. His brother, a life….everything. _**Redemption. **_

_And you're tryin' to…what, give him that? _

_**No. **_He shook his head, eyes slipping closed, the desperation in his next words making them almost a prayer. _**We can watch him earn it himself. **_Every inch of him yearned with how badly he wanted just that, and he knew Dean had to feel it. Even so, it wouldn't be enough to make him understand. _**He's more than capable, I know he is. I have faith in him, and I know you do, too, even angry. **_

_I'm..._Dean's wavering hesitation was answer enough and Michael smiled, drumming his fingers soft against the counter.

_**Yes. I know. Hard to stay angry at him, hm?**_

_Never been able to keep it up for long. I mean, not that I really wanted to, you know?_

_**Yes. I do. **_

* * *

Castiel held his hand out to pull Gabriel up from the gravel, not so surprised when he didn't take it but rather leaned back on his elbows, looking up.

"So, what's up his ass?"

After so many years apart, he'd forgotten the easy familiarity of Gabriel's voice, the lazy, rollicking tone he'd have had in any vessel, because it was _his_. His own lips quirked up in a smile and he sank gracefully to the ground, crossing his legs and sitting down beside him. "I didn't have any idea he hated you."

"Well, that makes two of us." Gabriel reached up to press against the back of his neck, cracking it absently. "_Damn_, that actually hurt!" He sighed, nudged Castiel with his knee. "So? Really, what's up with him? I know Michael's always been the serious type, but I don't think I've ever seen him this high strung, not even when Lucifer first left home."

Castiel hunched his shoulders, running over the story as Michael had told it to him. He wanted to explain, but at the same time he hated sharing a secret that wasn't his own so soon after discovering it, even if he was still a little angry at Michael himself. "He's…under a great deal of stress."

"C'mon, Castiel. _Sam_. Why's he so bent out of shape over-"

"He loves him." Somehow, blurting it out just seemed best. He took a breath in the startled silence that followed, filled it out a little more. "He was given to Sam at birth by our Father, and he loves him, and it was meant to be that way so he wouldn't fail. He's afraid to tell Sam or Dean, and he's certain nothing will ever come of it, and he's terrified he's going to not only lose this war, but that he'll personally lose everything before he sees the world fall. He's terrified he's going to fail, Gabriel, and he hasn't said it but I could see it in his eyes when he was telling me, and I've never seen him afraid before." He flicked his eyes down, studying the rocks and dust beneath his hands. "And I was angry at him, too, but I think we should…" He cast around, settled on the words Dean would've chosen. "Cut him a little bit of slack."

"Hm." Gabriel shifted, leaned back further to look up at the sky. "You know why I came down here without saying a word?" Though he hesitated, it wasn't for long enough to really be wanting an answer. "I was so _sick_ of the insanity, and the tension, and the violence. I don't really give a shit about the regulations, or if Lucifer doesn't want to kiss mankind's collective ass; I just want to see as many of us as can scrape through this be together as a family in the end. So whatever _convictions_ you have about this, Castiel," He looked over at him, smirking, "And I _know_ you have them…I don't care. And I never will. So If I hang around, it's just because I think you're winning. And if that ever starts to not be the case, I'll leave."

Cas would be lying to say that it didn't hurt, that he'd hoped that after being such _brothers_ before, that Gabriel might have missed him even just a little more, but how it felt didn't really matter. He hadn't seen him in ages, and thinking back on it now, it seemed like the mark of a fool to have expected anything else when he saw him in the doorway. He nodded, eyes still down. "You're free to go whenever you want. I can't speak for Michael, but I know _I'll_ be grateful for any help you can give us."

"Alright then." Gabriel reached out, ruffled his hair more roughly than affectionately. "I'll be back tomorrow, when something's actually happening."

* * *

Waking, Sam felt more than a little disoriented. He hadn't thought it would be so jarring, not dreaming at all, but now that he'd done it he could say for sure that it was. It wasn't like having a night where he just couldn't remember his dreams; it was more like he'd blacked out, or ceased to exist, or something like that, and considering his condition as a walking 'empty' meatsuit, that feeling wasn't exactly comforting.

He let out a slightly shaky breath as he rolled over, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the light. A cold glass nudged against his arm then, condensation rubbing off against his skin.

"Here. It'll help." After a few days he was starting to be able to hear the faint edge in his voice that was all Michael and not really like Dean, but fuzzy from sleep like this it still sounded like his brother. Even the actions rang clearly of his overprotective big brother, even if Dean's choice of words probably would've been along the lines of 'drink this, I'm not having you throwing up in my car.'. He almost smiled at the thought, slid his arm back to take the water and ease the glass to his lips, swallowing a small sip.

"Thanks."

He heard the chair beside the bed scrape closer over the hardwood floor, and he blinked a few times until his eyes unglued enough to let him focus on Michael. The look on his face was worryingly serious, his eyes studying his own clasped hands, elbows resting on his knees.

Sam sat up against the headboard, shaking his head once and taking another sip to clear it a little more. "What's happened?"

Michael jerked a little at that, apparently yanked out of his own thoughts. Or, maybe a conversation with Dean. Sometimes Sam could tell, sometimes he couldn't.

"It's…there's someone here you won't want to see, but he's come to help us, and while I'd rather throw him out on his ass, he _will_ likely be of use." He shrugged, waving his hand through the air. "But, that's inconsequential, at the moment. Sam…" He licked his lips, brow furrowing as he thought. "What would make you agree to Lucifer's proposition?"

'_Cause everyone expects me to agree to it._ Frustration spiked hot in his chest and he scooted farther away, setting the glass down on the table with a loud clink. "I'm _not_ going to-"

Michael held up his hand, and though the gesture was clear enough on its own, he could feel the power that came with it, pressuring him into silence. The shock must've shown on his face, then, and Michael cleared his throat, looking away.

"Sorry about that. Sometimes I get…carried away." He sighed, heavy, settled back in his chair as easily as Dean would have. "Sam, I wasn't accusing you, and I didn't want you to think I was. What I'm _trying_ to do is outwit my brother. Cut him off at the pass, so to speak. If I know what he would offer you or threaten you with, I can do everything in my power to make that offer less attractive to take. Whatever it may be."

He laughed bitterly, turning away and shoving the sheets off to set his feet down on the other side of the bed, yanking his jeans up to his hips and fastening them quickly. "You mean, so you can stop me before I screw up. Find some…some tantalizing reward 'cause I'm just _that_ easy to-"

"Will you _stop_ treating me like I'm not on your side?!" Sam jerked back, a little startled to find Michael right in front of him, green eyes steeled hard with frustration. "I've told you I have faith in your strength, and I _mean_ it more than you're willing to believe, but I'm certainly not against you and I don't think you're inevitably going to fail, Samuel. On the contrary, I think you were born to triumph here." His eyes softened, barely, and for a moment his hand twitched, caught between reaching forward and clenching his fist. "I'm not trying to examine every way you're _going_ to fail. I only want to help you with the ways he's going to try to trip you. That's all this was about. Me offering my help, if you want it."

Well, that he hadn't really expected. Either way, it still sounded like a veiled 'I want to be sure I can stop you before you fuck up.', but there was something sincere in his words, and there was the chance that maybe Sam was wrong about that. Maybe. He raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he sank back on the bed still half dressed. "I…I'd say he'd threaten Dean, but now that you're in him, I'm not sure how that'd work. Maybe…maybe he'd tell me Dean would be ok afterwards or something, I don't know. Or he'd…tell me I have a chance to fix everything I…" He cut himself off, refusing to even let his mind go through it. "But this is _stupid_, because I'm not an idiot! No matter _what_ he says, what he offers, I know he isn't going to do it!"

Michael nodded, settling in on the bed next to him. "You're right, he's not, but as I said last night, he's a master of persuasion. You may know he's a filthy liar _now_, but when he's speaking to you it won't be that clear. Do you understand what I'm saying? He can…get inside your head, in a way. Make sure you're not thinking clearly, wrap you into his convoluted way of thinking and then trap you with a question you wouldn't be able to refuse, if it was true. And by that point, he'll have you believing it is."

Yeah, he knows that, really. Deep down, he knows that if Lucifer gets him alone, he probably has a snowball's chance in Hell, no matter how strong his convictions that he just _won't_ ever say yes. That knowledge terrifies him almost as much as it makes it him determined, maybe even more, but that's not something he wants to come out and say, because if he isn't sure of himself after all that's happened, how the fuck can anyone else be sure of him either?

He almost jumps at Michael's touch on his arm, soft and fleeting. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. As I said, I know you're strong. I only want you to be prepared. He is a monster I would wish on no one."

Sam nodded, vaguely accepting. "Yeah."

"Sam?"

"M' fine."

"Right." Michael stretched out, legs crossing in front of him, hands coming back behind him to press into the mattress. "Well, then, I have another question for you." Sam looked over, curious, and he could see open warmth in Michael's gaze when their eyes met. "In your research, have you ever come across anything about my sword?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, questioning. "I…thought that was a ruse. That _Dean_ was-"

"My vessel, yes, and they used the sword as a ruse to draw you to a meeting spot that would be familiar, but that doesn't mean I don't have a sword." His lips quirked up, a smirk that wasn't quite like Dean's usual, but something different. "Come now, I know you've seen the pictures. Do you think I drove my brother into his cage with my bare hands? I might have been able to, but it certainly would have been more of a chore."

He'd seen the picture in question a hundred times, probably more than that. It was one of the earliest things he remembered from dad's journal, cut out of some church pamphlet and taped to a page about demons where his father had made it clear he thought the story of Michael caging the devil was bullshit. He rubbed his hands together, thinking. Other than their clue about the hill of 42 dogs that turned out _not_ to be a clue, he had nothing. "Well, it makes sense, but I've never come across it. Then again, I didn't spend any real time researching angel lore until this past year, and even then…" _Even then, I wasn't into it like I used to be. Most of my time was taken up with being a dumb shit._

"I need you to try to find it, if you can. I'll need it before the end, but it'd be an important asset at any point during the fight that I can get my hands on it. The only information that I can give you is that, by the early 1800s, it had fallen into the hands of a new order of knights in France, a group of largely high nobles who called themselves The Order of Saint Michael. It came into their hands, they knew it for what it was, and they started an order in my name. After that, I'm not sure where it went."

That was definitely a solid starting point, and he could already feel his thoughts eagerly kicking into gear. It had been far too long since he'd actually put himself into his work fully, and now that he was free of the blood, he could feel his old interests returning. It felt good, _clean_ somehow. And, even if it was just at research, this was a chance to prove himself just a little bit, to himself, even if it didn't matter to anyone else. If he could do something right, he'd break his train of bad decisions.

He scratched absently at his chest, stood and went to his bag, reaching around inside until his hand caught on a button down that he yanked out, shaking out the wrinkles before pulling it on. "I'll get right on it. I know of a few good websites for old church records; I can start with those."

"Good." Michael hesitated before he stood himself, pausing again before he headed out the door. "Sam? Thank you."

All things considered, no one should really be thanking him. It felt like his ribs were twisting, unsettled, and he made a non-committal noise as he finished buttoning up his shirt. By the time he crossed the room to dig out his laptop, Michael had slipped out the door.

* * *

Michael was sprawled in a chair near the window, reading, when Castiel came up behind them. Internally, Dean jumped a little at the gentle brush against his arm, the caress lingering enough to be clearly meant for him.

"Hello, Dean." The words slipped out under his breath, soft and warm, and Dean's uneasiness edged back a little.

_Cas._

_**Can I tell him now? What was bothering you earlier?**_

Dean would have growled if he could've, suddenly defensive all over again. _No__._

Michael sighed, eyes rolling. "He's glad you're here."

From the way Cas stiffened when he heard the words, the sarcasm hadn't been lost on him. "Is he…are you still angry at me?"

_Jesus, __no__, ok? Tell him it's ok, tell him-_

_**I've got it.**_

Michael flipped a page in the book, casual. "No, it's fine. It's me he's upset with. And before you ask…" He skimmed the page, reading much faster than Dean ever could've alone and finding nothing of interest. "No, I haven't hurt him; I haven't done anything to him."

Cas's eyes narrowed, more judging than curious. "Then why-"

"Michael!" They both snapped their heads in Bobby's direction, the near vicious tone in his voice uncharacteristic enough to have grabbed their attention. He wheeled himself close quickly enough, lifted a book off his lap with a finger held between the pages to mark his place, gesturing towards Michael with it. "Did you _know_ about this?"

Even guarded, Dean could feel a shot of something like panic from Michael before he scrambled back into his careful control, nothing about him showing anything but ease as he righted himself in the chair, shutting his own book and dropping it onto the table behind him.

"You're going to have to be more clear, Bobby. I don't recognize the book offhand. We've had many prophets after all, and-"

Bobby wheeled in closer, swept clear the tiny end table next to the chair, and slammed the book down on it, his finger pressing immediately under a passage in flowing script.

_And as God has commanded it, the archangel Michael will take his place as the Guardian of all Humanity, and he will fight the Evil One by right of birth and duty, and by his contrasting claim over the One whom those who come from the Pit would crown their Prince, the unholy vessel of their Lord._

Bobby read it aloud, his voice strong and barely shaking with something that could have been rage, or fear, or any mixture of the two. There was maybe only a second's stunned silence when he stopped, and Dean was already running the passage over again in his head, dissecting.

…_what the…Mike, what the __fuck__ is this about?!_

Bobby didn't wait to question him, his gaze hard and unyielding. "This is Sam, isn't it? What…_claim_ have you all got over Sam? Does he have something else in his blood we don't know about? What the hell is it?"

Michael sighed, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"No. Not what claim _we_ have over him…they refer only to the claim _I_ have over him."

* * *

For some reason, this was the hardest chapter in the world to write, and it's _still_ stubbornly shorter than I intended it to be. Sorry it took so long guys, writing this one was like pulling teeth and I have _no_ idea why.


End file.
